


Chrysalis: A Morgan Takashima Novel

by norsko



Series: Takashima Series [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Demons, Fantasy, Magic, Multi, Supernatural Elements, Vampires, Were-Creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-07 01:32:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 37
Words: 83,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8777851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norsko/pseuds/norsko
Summary: Gang wars aren't uncommon. They happen all the time, in fact. But when your father's gang is going up against an army of vengeful vampires with you stuck right in the middle, you can't help but feel like you've been dealt a pretty shitty hand. Morgan Takashima is the game changer of a supernatural war going on for ages.. even if it means giving up everything to be a part of it.





	1. You Look Good for Your Age

**Author's Note:**

> If you're reading this for the first time, welcome~
> 
> This is an original work, my first novel, that I first wrote a couple years ago, when I began writing formerly for the first time (a lot of firsts!).  
> In order to retain a document (literally) of my evolution as a writer, I've chosen not to edit from the original as it was published on FictionPress -- so if the writing at first is terrible, this is the reason (and has nothing at all to do with me being lazy, I swear).
> 
> Enjoy!

****

    “Do you even _realise_ the situation you’re in, you little shit?”

 

  _Idiots, the lot of them._

Morgan knew full well the situation he was in; he wasn’t as dumb as people tended to think, despite his rough, juvenile exterior.

  He’d _planned_ this. On his own, he’d came up with the plan to get himself ‘captured’ by the enemy gang, the ‘Toronto’. He’d _planned_ to be exactly where he was now, bound by ropes to a chair, ‘interrogated’ by Toronto’s grunts, in some dank cellar illuminated only by the dim fake light blinking from the dangling globe close above.

 

  The man who’d spoke, a stout, sweaty guy in a crusty suit and a receding hairline, sneered into Morgan’s face, his breath sour, as he flicked his cigar. “I know _exactly_ who you are. Killian, that bastard, you’re his boy, ain’t you?”

  Morgan inched away from the man’s mouth, his face twisted in mock-disgust.

 

    “You don’t have to get all up in my face, man. I’m right here. If you know who I am, then you should probably treat me with a bit more respect. Also, consider breath-mints.”

 

He coughed slightly for effect. To Morgan’s surprise, the man didn’t yell.

He threw back his head and laughed, a barking guffaw of noise that echoed across the metallic walls of the cellar.

    “You hear this kid, Ricky?”

The other man, Ricky, standing off in the inky blackness beyond the dim light, stepped into view. Tall and lean, he was all straw-straight hair and upturned eyes. A basset hound came to Morgan’s mind. Ricky said nothing, only smiling and nodding his head along with the red-faced gangster, chuckling shallowly. “Unbelievable, the nerve. You wouldn’t be so cocky if you knew that—”

    “‘That’ what?” Morgan asked, raising his eyebrows with a smirk as the man abruptly grew silent.

 

    “Yes, what exactly, Mr. Daniels?”

 

  Morgan turned sharply at the new voice, the smirk slowly draining from his face, replaced by one of utter surprise and enrapture.

  _She_ —for it couldn’t be anything else that had had his attention to raptly—was tall, probably only a few centimetres shorter than his massive six-and-a-half-foot height, but that could probably be attributed to the towering black heels she wore.

  But her height wasn’t what dominated his attention.

She wore a pearl-coloured cocktail dress that clung tightly to her rounded hips, and glittered over strapless, full breasts. Her skin was the colour of deep caramel that glowed with an ethereal lustre, dimly sparking a sense of desire in the back of Morgan’s mind so abrupt and profound it left him reeling. As she walked toward him, her heels clicking loudly across the metal-plated floor, her waterfall of black ringlets dangled to-and-fro from a ponytail on the back of her head, her heavy lidded eyes never leaving Morgan’s as she stalked toward him.

  She knelt before him, and Morgan was momentarily lost in a sea of ruby-red eyes. He was startled, however, at the realisation that her eyes were a similar deep red to his own; a rippling of wine so deep, it was nearly black.

    “Th-that you’re here, Miss Rafaella.”

  She nodded in understanding, the nodding of her head slow and sensual, like she was facing an old lover. She moved closer, her full, glistening lips nearly touching Morgan’s nose.

    “What are you here for, my little sea?”

  She spoke with a rich, South-American accent, her voice throaty and husky, like rough velvet, and as she spoke her sweet, flowery breath tickled his nose and fogged his glasses. As the initial bewilderment of her appearance wore off, Morgan grew puzzled.

    “‘Little sea’? What does that mean?” He asked before he could stop himself, his voice innocently curious.

    “Your name, Morgan, is very old. In the old lands, at some point it meant the ‘sea’.” Rafaella’s voice was low; she spoke like it was just the two of them, and he wasn’t tied to a chair being interrogated. “Of course, it is also a common name, and meanings tend to be lost on common names. But I have a sneaking suspicion you are _from_ the old lands, yes?”

  Morgan pondered this. He didn’t really understand what she meant by ‘old lands’, but he ventured a guess.

    “You mean I’m Irish? Yeah, I guess. Only half…”

    “Half is enough, little sea. The other?”

    “Ah, J-Japanese.” She teased the information easily out of him, like a skilled tailor would tease the string from fabric. He felt like telling her the truth.

  She moved closer, one of her chocolate arms resting dangerously close to his left-thigh.

    “Hmm, a very nice country. So much culture. But that is Earth, is it not? Your parents met here, on Jotai?”

    “N-no. They met on Earth, but dad’s family m-moved here.”

  She nodded once again, her eyes never leaving his even as she did so.

    “I hear it in your accent, though you hide it. Now, my little sea, would you tell Rafaella why you’ve come to her mansion so late into the evening?”

 

  Morgan froze.

He knew this moment was coming, when the niceties would end, and this babe would ask him why’d come.

  He could _not_ tell her.

  It was imperative he didn’t tell her what his real intentions were, because he had a feeling this woman could single-handedly tear him to pieces.

    “I’m spying for my father.” He said, steeling himself and making sure his voice was completely flat and devoid of emotion. It took him a surprising amount of effort to lie.

    “Killian sent his son to spy? Bullshit.” The man with the cigar, Mr. Daniels, spat.

    “Killian?” Rafaella asked slowly, her tongue mulling over the name like fine-wine.

    “Y’know, part of that… whatchamacallit, ‘A-Aka—”

    “Akatsuki.” Rafaella finished, the foreign word sounding both odd and surreal through her accent.

    “Yeah, them. Their leader, y’know?”

    “Of course I know, Mr. Daniels.”

  Morgan was surprised to hear a tinge of venom ice her tone. She stood abruptly, but gracefully—with ease, her eyes betraying nothing. Mr. Daniels shut his mouth immediately, a bead of sweat appearing instantly on his sweaty red forehead. He looked like he was desperately trying to mask his fear, but Morgan knew what he saw. He’d seen fear before, and this ran deep.

  Rafaella was a woman of terror.

    “A spy, Morgan?” She asked, an eyebrow raised.

    “Yes.” Morgan answered, attempting to feed sincerity into his voice. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as she smiled, slow, deadly and dazzling. It was only at that moment he realised what was so inherently _wrong_ about her, a feeling that had been gnawing at his insides, but had ignored.

He had never told her his name.

    “I claim you, Morgan Takashima. Under the name of the _Vorvintti_ clan, I claim you as my own; may you be moulded in my image, may you obey my words and my will, and may you destroy all those that oppose you.”

  Her smile widened then, her pupils constricting into glittering red slits, and Morgan let out an involuntary shiver as the glint of milky-white fangs glittered from between her beautiful lips.

 

    “Scared?”

  Mr. Daniels sneered, his bravado making a comeback after Rafaella’s departure.

She’d ‘claimed’ Morgan–whatever that meant–before abruptly leaving, saying she had important business to attend to–whatever _that_ meant. Morgan hated to see a beauty like that leave, but was more than relieved. He did note, however, that as she left and his two interrogators had turned back to him, she’d slipped a semi-automatic onto the far bench on the right-hand wall, seemingly out of nowhere.     But that was the least of his worries.

  He had had no idea she was a vampire, and a member of the _Vorvintti_ clan, no less. He should’ve seen it coming, the way she moved like a lion on the prowl, those slitted cat-like eyes boring into him. But he hadn’t even begun to guess Toronto had a deal with the _Vorvintti,_ and he’ll probably pay dearly for it.

  An infamous species of vampire, they’d migrated to Jotai some years ago, maybe twenty years before Morgan was born, after which they’d climbed the vampiric ladder to become the strongest vampire species in Jotai City. He didn’t know much about them, other than the fact that they were heavily involved in Jotai’s criminal underworld, just as he and his family were. That, and apparently they housed a horde of supermodels.

 

  Not waiting for Morgan’s reply, Mr. Daniels indicated to Ricky, who managed to look similarly bored and terrified at the same time.

   “Get out of here. I’ll take care of this little shit. I’m worried about that… shipment we got this morning.”

  With a curt nod, Ricky quietly closed the metal door behind him, which shut with a screeching _clang._ Morgan wondered briefly at the ‘shipment’ Mr. Daniels had mentioned; he could practically hear the quotations.

  He turned back to Morgan, a slow grin stretching his features.

    “Spying, huh? You expect me to believe Killian sent his eldest son to ‘spy’ on Toronto’s main house?”

    “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

    “You’re lying.”

  Morgan attempted to shrug, but had difficulty in the bonds, only managing an awkward wriggle.

    “What are those ‘shipments’ you were talking about? Something important?”

    “What’s it to you? _I’m_ asking the questions here. You’ll tell me the truth, eventually. Everyone does.”

  A couple things crossed Morgan’s mind at that moment. One, was that this ‘shipment’ that Mr. Daniels had mentioned was likely related to what Morgan had gone there for. Two, was that he should probably get out of there before the brass knuckles came out.

    “Well, y’see, I’m an… aspiring entrepreneur, like my dad, y’know, so if there’s any issues in… business… I’d like to know about it.”

  Mr. Daniels chuckled. It wasn’t a pleasant sound.

    “Well look at what we have here; want to follow in daddy’s footsteps? That’s cute, kid. How old are you, anyway, like twelve?”

    “I’m eighteen, but thanks, I take flattery were I can. I’d love to take over the family business, but if it weren’t for… y’know, the _thing._ ”

He dipped his voice low, mustering as much emotion as he could. Just as expected, Mr. Daniels’ eyes widened

    “What… thing?”

  Morgan glanced left and right anxiously, acting as though he were worried someone might overhear.

    “I can’t tell anyone. This is the biggest secret in my family. But if I told you, I think you might be interested in what it could mean for Toronto.”

    “…And why would you tell me something like that?”

    “I’m bargaining for my life, here! Alright, I’ll tell you, but you have to come closer; I don’t want anyone to hear.”

  From the beginning he’d been pitching his voice lower and lower, forcing Mr. Daniels to move closer to hear him. Now he moved closer still, until his nose was nearly touching Morgan’s.

    “The thing is—”

  _Bang._

Morgan smashed his head against Mr. Daniels’ own, sending the older man reeling. He tipped forward until he stood awkwardly on his feet, then put as much strength he could into swinging the wooden chair. It exploded against Mr. Daniels’ shoulder with a clunking of wood, and Morgan quickly shook himself free of the ropes. Striding across the room in two steps, he picked up the pistol on the bench—he had no idea _why_ Rafaella had left it to him, but that didn’t matter. He had a weapon, and that’s what was important. Before Mr. Daniels could even utter a warning, he slid back the barrel, not surprised to realise the gun was fully-loaded and equipped with a silencer, flipped back the safety, and fired a bullet straight into Mr. Daniels’ forehead. The man fell to the ground with a deep thrum that rang across the metal floor.

  As blood seeped across the metal, Morgan swept his eyes across the room, looking for anything he might need. He had little time, now, before the body would be discovered, and the room offered no place to hide it. Finding nothing, he stepped over the body, not a hint of remorse slowing his steps. He needed to find what he came for, and get the hell out as quick as possible; he didn’t have time for guilt.

  And he needed to do it before the vampire found him.

 

 

  Morgan silently skimmed across the corridor, power-walking on the tips of his boots to minimise the noise. His fingers slipped across the gun’s trigger as he walked, and he ran his tongue over dry lips. Worry gnawed at his stomach like nausea, but he pushed the feeling down. He didn’t have the time to be fearing for his life.

  Shaking his curly black hair away from his eyes, he resisted the urge to push up his glasses as he anxiously glanced to the front and back of the corridor. He’d only been wondering the cellar’s vast, stark white corridors and marble floors for a few minutes, and thankfully hadn’t run into anyone, but that was somehow worse.

  If he’d run into anyone, he’d know he was going the right way—that the thing they were so carefully guarding was within his grasp. But so far, not-so-good; he hadn’t met a soul.

 

    “…—id you see that dress? Fuck man, if she wasn’t _Vorvintti…_ ”

 

  Morgan stopped right in his tracks.

A few metres ahead, a soft golden light filtered from an open door on the left side of the corridor, the dim light warming the cold white marble and walls.

 

    “… Know what you mean man. Shit, be careful; she can probably hear us, with that vamp hearing.”

    “Fuck! We’re sorry!”

  One of the voices, male, spoke up louder, as though he really did try to apologise to what Morgan could only assume to be Rafaella. His voice echoed across the marble tiles, masking Morgan’s steps as he slowly padded toward the open door.

    “Dumbass, I don’t think she’s even _here._ ”

    “Shut the fuck up, it’s just in case. And anyway, I’d rather stay in her good graces, if you get what I mean.”

    “I don’t get what you mean.”

    “Well, for one, imagine the sex,” the other man made a noise a cross between a _‘mhm-hmm’_ and a pleased moan, “and for another, I’d want her to turn me.”

    “What? Really?”

    “Yeah man, that’d be the dream. Immortality and an amazing woman? What more could a guy ask for.”

  The other man made another affirmative noise, but Morgan hadn’t moved. He considered what the man had said, turning his words over and over in his head.

 

  Just like any human being, Morgan had at some point in his life, considered his mortality. But he’d always brushed off morbid thoughts like that; he was young, rich, and full of life, what more did he need? But immortality, well… That was something else entirely; on a whole different level.

 

  Shaking his head to clear it, he refocused on the voices in the room, trying to pinpoint their location. From the way they reverberated off the walls and floor, he’d guessed they were fairly close to the doorway, possibly one on either side, or they were sitting down. He couldn’t be sure, but he needed to be prepared. He’d only have one opportunity to silence the both of them, and if they didn’t have what he needed, he’d just continue on to the next rooms, then the next, killing anyone in his way until he had _it._

Breathing out slowly to calm his frayed nerves, he stepped swiftly but quietly into the room. The two men, he now realised, were sitting at a table to the left of the doorway, the soft light coming from a lamp on the table, and a game of twenty-one still being played between them. Despite the two MK-47’s resting on the wooden table, both men had their hands completely full with cards, booze and cigars.

  _Excellent._

Morgan quickly shot the both of them in the head before they could even look his way, the silencer turning the two shots into clean, satisfying blasts of air. They slumped forward, their cards flying everywhere, as their blood seeped into the wood.

  Not sparing a second glance, Morgan once again swept his gaze around the room.

 

  He’d gotten lucky.

As his eyes swept around the bare alabaster walls and shining marble floors, they quickly came to rest on a large marble pedestal at the front of the room. Quickly striding towards the marble, he also noted the window set high up the hall on his right—the perfect escape route, should he need it.

 

  What awaited him—placed in a basin set in the marble—was a perfect, multi-faceted crystal.

Around the size of a large egg, the crystal was mostly purple, but shot through with lines of electric-pink and blue, and seemed to glow from within, casting a glittering rainbow-light prettier than any diamond Morgan had ever seen. Tentatively taking it into his palm, the crystal seemed to pulse within his grasp to his heartbeat, and wasn’t cold to the touch like he expected, but comfortably warm. He placed the crystal against his heart, relief flooding through him at finally managing to find it after all this time.

 

  His peace was broken, however, at the sound of stampeding feet.

    “… Shit!”

  Hastily but gingerly placing the crystal into the inside pocket of his letter jacket, he quickly fired a shot at the window in the top-right corner of the wall, shattering the glass onto the pavement outside. Dumping one of the men’s lifeless bodies, he dragged one of the wooden chairs from the table across the room and placed it beneath the window, just as the stampede was growing ever closer.

 

  Morgan managed to hook his legs up and climb over the sill, earning him many cuts in the process, just as the sound of voices shouted from inside the room. Not many people were as tall—or as reckless—as himself, so he knew he had time before someone managed to climb across the window sill. He climbed up onto the pavement, dragging himself over the sill. Looking around, he found a trashcan nearby, and quickly jammed it into the glassless gap of the window.

  That probably wouldn’t stop them for long, but it was a start.

 

  Racing from the dark mansion surrounded by trees, wire fences and shrubbery, he tore through the streets, already scrambling for his phone to dial a chauffeur home.


	2. I'm Twelve-Years-Old and the Plate is Broken

 

  Morgan stood just outside his father’s office, his body swaying slightly with exhaustion. He still wore his bloody green letter jacket and torn jeans, having not even been given the opportunity to stop past his room on the way to his father’s office floor.

 

  Morgan’s family, which consisted of him, his father, his ten-year-old younger brother, and the entire Akatsuki gang, had their home spread out over several floors of a half-way residential skyscraper, at its tip being his father’s work-office. He knew he shouldn’t complain, being what most would consider a spoilt brat, but the constant traffic of people and the fact that their house didn’t feel like a _home_ was a thing that had bothered Morgan from a young age. That, and he missed having a mother figure in his life.

  His mother had been killed a few months after his younger brother was born— some kind of gang skirmish that no one had even bothered to properly explain. His dad wasn’t the same afterwards; they all moved back from Earth to Jotai City, where his father claimed his role as head to the Akatsuki gang.

  It was all very interesting and tragic, but Morgan didn’t care much for it.

Quelling the onslaught of emotions that came with remembering his mother, he steeled himself for the encounter with his father.

 

  Stamping down his feelings of reluctance, he pulled the heavy wooden doors open with sore hands, and slowly entered the room.

He stopped at the foot of the steps leading up to his father’s desk, choosing to look at his boots and anywhere else instead of his father’s eyes.

  The room was much as he remembered it; a smooth blend of traditional oak and wooden fixtures and shelves blended with sleek, modern lights and metal. Wooden bookcases lined every wall from the ground to high ceiling, their shelves fit to bursting with books of every type, ranging from heavy-bound leather to thin modern textbooks, despite the fact that such a sheer amount of books were rare and pricey in Jotai. But Killian was a pricey man.

  With nowhere else to look, and the feeling of his father’s eyes boring into him, he finally turned back to Killian’s enormous mahogany desk.

    If you compared Morgan and his father side-by-side, you wouldn’t be able to tell that they were father and son. The most noticeable difference was their hair and eyes; whilst Morgan had hair as black as raven’s feathers and eyes as deep as red wine, his father was much the opposite, with his ginger hair and eyes like polished jade. Morgan was a lot taller than his father too; the only thing he’d seemingly inherited from his father was probably his ridiculously messy, curly hair and astonishingly thick eyebrows. Not even his bad near-sightedness could be chalked up to his father. Nor is mother, for that matter.

  It was practically taboo to ask his father anything of his mother; Morgan only had his sketchy memories to rely on. He had _her_ hair and eyes, from what he could remember, and she wasn’t particularly short. She wasn’t near-sighted, like he was, either. She had been delicate and graceful, tender and gentle, like a mother should have been. Nothing like him.

 

    “Morgan.”

  Morgan looked into his father’s flat green eyes, devoid of any emotion. He noted the wrinkles that had begun to crinkle around his eyes with a distant concern.

    “Dad, I—”

    “Am I to understand,” he interrupted, “That you broke into Toronto’s main mansion, to steal the Chrysalis?”

    “…Yes.”

  His father sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Do you not understand the consequences of your actions, Morgan?”

  Killian’s voice echoed in his ears, especially the way with which he rolled the r’s in his name. He never addressed Morgan directly in conversation unless he _really_ was in deep shit for something.

    “I know you wanted it, and it’s a massive liability in Toronto’s hands—”

    “We had _planned_ on taking it, but with the _Vorvintti_ guarding it, it would’ve been _too dangerous._ And you just… stroll right on in? With the progenitor Rafaella stalking the place?!”

 

    _Progenitor…?_

    “… I didn’t know…” Morgan mumbled, too low for Killian to hear.

    “What was that?”

    “I didn’t know the _Vorvintti_ were there.”

    “… You _didn’t know the_ Vorvintti _were there…?_ ” Killian spoke slowly, with disbelief, his voice rising with every word. “YOU DIDN’T KNOW THE _VORVINTTI_ WERE THERE?!”

  Morgan winced. He was in the deepest shit, possibly the deepest in his entire life. He shook his head, not able to meet his father’s exasperated eyes.

    “YOU CHARGED INTO TORONTO HOUSE, AND DIDN’T KNOW _WHY_ THEY MIGHT HAVE A VAMPIRE WEAPON? YOU DIDN’T STOP TO CONSIDER MAYBE THEY _WERE IN LEAGUE WITH THE VAMPIRES…?!”_

  Killian was angrier than Morgan had ever seen him. Not even the time when he’d snuck out of the house when he was thirteen to help in a turf war was he this angry. Not even the time when he’d managed to sneak in a group of very drunk, and very high teenagers into his room to do things no child wants their parent to find out about was he _this_ angry.

  This was on a whole other level of fucked.

    “Dad, I-I did this for you—”

    “ _And that’s the worst bit…!”_ His voice had quieted down some; he’d seemed to have taken a second to calm down. That wouldn’t help Morgan, though. “You don’t even _know_ what you’ve done wrong. You’ve always been like that, I suppose. It’s probably my fault, I know. I’m not exactly the best role-model, after all. I mean, just look at your inheritance; an entire gang? That’d make your grandmother’s head spin…” He’d started to ramble. He might just escape this unscathed, as it were. “You’ve fucked this up big-time, you know that, son?”

    “H-how?” Morgan’s voice cracked for a split second, his accent slipping at the look on his father’s face.

    “You’ve alerted them to us. We’d originally planned it so that Toronto would have no idea it was _us_ stealing the Chrysalis. But we had to push back our plans after we found out why they had the crystal in the first place— that they’re in league with the _Vorvintti._ But you right fucked that up, didn’t you?”

  Morgan said nothing, didn’t move an inch. He stared down at his leather-tipped boots, feeling all the world like he was nine-years-old again and had broken one of the desk lamps.

    “What am I to do with you?” His father gave a heavy, resigned sigh, and the suffocating dread in Morgan’s chest lessened by a fraction. “Well then, show it to me. It’s not like you can _un-_ steal it.”

  Slowly at first, hesitantly, he reached into his letter jacket without meeting his father’s eyes. Pulling out the crystal, he felt the familiar pulsating warmth of the crystal’s surface against his skin, the uncomfortable knot in his chest loosening just a fraction from the warmth. He turned his palm over and, somewhat reluctantly, unclenched his fingers.

  The Chrysalis was just as beautiful as when he’d first laid eyes on it, its purple, pink and blue surface sparkling like it was under the sun.

    “Amazing. I can’t believe you managed to steal _this_ with Rafaella in the area. You know, you should be dead.” Killian said it as a joke however, his eyes glued to the crystal in amazement and wonder. But Morgan knew he was right; by all accounts, he should’ve been dead.

    “Alright, give it here then.”

  Morgan froze, startled, as his father walked back around his desk, and reaching underneath, pulled out a padded, black leather suitcase. Clicking open the lock, which, Morgan noted, had both a thumb-print scanner and code-input, Killian gestured for the crystal. Morgan lifted his hand then hesitated, a sudden fierce feeling of protective reluctance steeling his arm. He suffocated the feeling just as quickly in its absurdity and handed his father the Chrysalis.

  Killian reverently placed the crystal into a groove set into the black foam of the case, and with one last look that betrayed nothing, carefully closed the lid.


	3. We're Basically Fucked

 

   A distant babble of voices and activity wafted in through the open balcony door. The night air was warm and pleasant, despite autumn having already begun; the smell of cooked food, cigarette smoke and alcohol lightly lingering in the air.

 

  Morgan frowned down at his black tie, unsatisfied. It wasn’t often he had to wear a tux and look the part of a gang-boss’ son, but when he did he wanted to impress. Giving a final once-over in the glittering mirror hanging over the black marble sink at his unruly hair like an anime-protagonist, eyes like raw garnet and the red button-down shirt underneath his black suit, he made an angry noise in his throat before leaving the bathroom.

 

  Morgan, as far as a spoilt kid could get, had an entire floor to himself, directly below his father’s penthouse. In it was his own small kitchen, game room—which he used nearly constantly—bedroom, bathroom, and even a balcony that overlooked the courtyard a couple levels below.

  In the level directly beneath him was his younger brother’s floor, and below that the ballroom where tonight’s festivities were to take place. Below the ballroom was the Akatsuki’s living quarters and finally, below that, was the Akatsuki’s storage facilities and meeting hall. Below these levels were the rest of the building, where—mostly— ordinary citizens resided.

 

  Striding across his meticulously clean room with its massive double bed and white shelves packed with various books, Morgan tucked a pistol into the back of his trousers from his dresser— just in case— before he went to the private elevator beside the kitchen and punched in the button for two levels below.

 

  Fiddling with the sleeves of his tux, Morgan waited impatiently as the elevator smoothly glided down, the familiar heavy weight of gravity pulling him deep in his stomach. Despite the elevator only running through five floors of the Akatsuki’s privately owned space, light classical music drifted in through hidden speakers.

    _Ugh. Always with the shitty classical music, kill me—_

The elevator slowed— all too soon— and stopped just a level below Morgan’s. Putting on the most displeased face he could manage, he sneered as his younger brother stepped in through the gliding doors. Erin stopped, startled at first, then mirrored Morgan’s disgusted glare.

 

    “Ugh, it’s _you._ ” The boys said in unison.

 

  Erin looked exactly how Morgan did eight years before; mature for his age, yet still gangly, with the sweet cherubic face of a child. He had the same crow’s nest of hair that tangled and fluffed in all directions, however Erin’s was an odd kind of chocolate-brown that was more of a blend of orange and black. His eyes— unhindered by glasses, which _always_ annoyed Morgan— where similar to their father’s, though darker: a deep, forest-green that was nearly a stormy grey.

  He was dressed similarly to Morgan, though he had a bottle-green button-down shirt. The whole look, Morgan noted, was both silly and adorable for a ten-year-old, but he didn’t dare laugh; his younger brother took the whole gang-thing _very_ seriously.

 

    “Who’re you expecting?” Morgan chuckled, his face erupting easily into a grin.

    “Oh, y’know… I was _expecting_ Al Pacino; we’re good friends.” Erin joked back.

  They were always like this; sarcasm was a natural defence—and offence—mechanism. Whereas their father was mostly serious, he _was_ Irish— both a drinker and a joker. The two of them had inherited his gift.

  There was only really one thing that separated Morgan and Erin, a thing which always bothered Morgan.

  His younger brother was far too soft-hearted for his own good.

In a world of gangs, mafia, drugs, money, demons, monsters, angels and all-else, a little kid with a fragile heart was the _last_ thing needed to get involved.

  Morgan worried that, if he needed to somehow become Akatsuki’s boss, what’d become of his younger brother. As it was, he worried anyway; their base wasn’t exactly _hidden,_ and plenty of enemy gangs were thirsting for their blood, both metaphorically, and literally.

  Which was entirely _not_ his fault.

 

  The elevator smoothed to a stop, and with a familiar _ping,_ the doors glided open.

Morgan’s worries slipped away instantly as he took in the throng of people in front of him. He was vaguely aware of Erin gasping innocently at his side.

 

  The main hall, two floors below Morgan’s, had been completely redecorated. Instead of the usual tables, shelves, TV’s and various entertainment, the large red-carpeted space had been cleared and filled with circular tables laden with silver cutlery, crystal decanters and, most important of all, extravagant food. People milled about, dressed in suits and fancy, colourful dresses, holding tall glasses of champagne as they made conversation.

  There were people of all races and species; in one corner Morgan spied a few gorgeous women in cocktail dresses with forked tongues, glittering golden eyes with vertical pupils, claws and lizard-like tails— _Lacert_ demons. In another corner he saw the tops of glittering golden and black wings— possibly, only a slight chance: fallen angels. Looking around, he barely noted here and there other creatures, ranging from werewolves to witches and various demons to half-breeds and demigods. It was incredible just how far his father’s influence had gone— no, the _Akatsuki’s_ influence.

  As it often surprised him, Killian was a formidable gang boss.

  Morgan slowly made his way across the crowd of people, turning his charm up as he chatted to various groups. He was dimly aware of Erin following close behind, nervous and shy as he said hello. The both of them, though young, were pretty much adored among the Akatsuki, and everyone was looking to become their friend— if only for the influence the both of them shared.

  The party sprawled out onto the concrete courtyard just outside the hall, overlooking the twinkling city lights far below. Morgan stumbled through the crowd and, feeling slightly flushed with the warm night air and bustle of people, tugged at his tie as he made his way to his father. He hastily grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, chugged it down in quick, burning gulps, and placed the cup on a passing table all in one fluid motion.

  Killian stood near a white-concrete gazebo wreathed with rose bushes near the edge of the courtyard. A large group of people thronged around him, some in their own conversations but most paying the utmost attention as Killian spoke to them about something. He casually took a sip of his champagne, then chuckled at a joke one of the guests must’ve said, his moustache wet as he tipped his head back. Morgan couldn’t hear what they were saying, but his father seemed to be in a good mood, which was enough for him.

  He made his way to his Killian’s side, the guests around him first annoyed as he pushed past, then erupting into smiles and surprised hellos as they recognised him.

 

    “Ah, and here’s the man of the hour himself, c’mere.”

 Killian gestured for Morgan to join him, and Morgan, his throat and stomach burning slightly from the alcohol, joined him at his side, where Killian wrapped his free arm tightly around his torso. It was a surprising and unexpected gesture; he had to physically restrain himself from twisting away.

    “If it weren’t for this boy, this _moronic_ boy of mine, we wouldn’t have the Chrysalis…!” He took another swig of his champagne. “Can you imagine it? He just… _goes right into the_ Vorvintti’s _lair,_ the little devil! Well, everything turned out okay in the end, I suppose. And that’s why we’re having this little get-together…! In honour of my brave but stupid son…!”

  The group surrounding the both of them started to clap, some shouting words of encouragement as they cheered him on with genuine approval. Morgan flushed at his father’s drunk words— it wasn’t often he was praised like that, and in front of so many people, no less.

    “Ha ha, yeah well… If it’s for Akatsuki, I’d do anything.”

  The group nodded their approval, as his father grinned into his ear.

    “That’s my boy—”

 

_Rumble._

Everyone stumbled as a tremor rumbled through the courtyard, the chandelier in the main hall swinging dangerously over the crowd of confused people far below.

  _Rumble._

The hall shook once again perilously, this time the partygoers screaming and growing panicked. Morgan glanced around the hall, confused. He could’ve sworn he’d felt the entire building move. Racing to the edge of the courtyard that overlooked the city many stories below, he grasped the concrete edge with white fingers as vertigo twisted his stomach. Squashing it down, he peered down toward the streets far below. No-one seemed panicked, or had stopped walking. The lights around the city twinkled brightly just as they always had. If an earthquake _had_ struck the city, wouldn’t the power have cut off?

  Morgan stepped back before another wave of vertigo could hit, or worse, an earthquake pitching him over the edge. Shaking his head, he thought long and hard about what might’ve been causing the tremors.

  He didn’t have to think long.

 

  With a loud, audible _bang_ , the door to the emergency stairwell just to the side of the hall opened, and in flooded a group clad in black, green night-vision goggles wrapped around their heads as they steadied their automatic rifles.

     _They’re gonna cut the lights…!_ Morgan realised with a start.

Taking hold of Erin and his dad, he pulled them behind the gazebo, forcing them onto the ground. In that same moment he pulled the pistol from the waistband of his trousers, pulled back the barrel and flipped the safety. His fingers slid uneasily over the trigger, glistening with sweat. It was all he could do to not chatter his teeth with anxiety. As it was, his stomach rattled and grinded with nerves painfully, the muscles in his arms and legs tensing with both adrenaline and fear.

 

    _How did they get in?!_ Morgan stressed.

Directly in the level below the main hall was the other living quarters for members and various other rooms. More to the point, _that’s_ where most of Akatsuki’s weapons were stored, not to mention, on a night like that, it was heavily guarded—

    _No…!_ Morgan realised with a start. _They aren’t heavily guarded— we had to be lax because of the guests. With so many people passing through, it’s not like we could watch them all the time, every single one…_

  Morgan’s worries stopped abruptly as the main hall was suddenly pitched in darkness, guests screaming in panic and stumbling through the sudden blackout.

 

  The raid had begun.


	4. No, Seriously. We. Are. Screwed.

 

  The raiders fired.

The sound of machine gunfire erupted in the hall, echoing across the walls and into the night air. The blaze of lights from their barrels was accompanied by the screams of those struck. Erin whimpered at Morgan’s side as bodies could be heard slumping to the ground one after another.

  But the raiders were forgetting one important detail.

  They’d trespassed on one of Jotai’s largest gang bases.

 

  Non-human guests reacted the fastest, using their combination of hidden weapons, teeth, claws and magic to counterattack. Next came the humans and members of Akatsuki; though not everyone carried weapons, they still knew how to fight.

  Morgan spied a woman who had torn the hem off her dress to move around who had butterknives in each of her hands and was using them surprisingly well; she managed to sneak behind one of the raiders and stab him between the shoulder blades down to the knife’s hilt. Despite her effort, though, even she was killed just as easily, as a raider near her saw what she was doing, and dispatched her quickly enough.

 

    _We_ need _back-up…!_

“Dad, have you heard from Tsukki?”

 

  Killian, crouched down beside him, was furiously tapping at his smartphone and the communicator on his wrist at the same time, all sense of drunkenness gone.

    “I’ve gotten several messages saying they’ve got vampires with them.”

    “ _What?_ ”

    “… It looks like it’s the _Vorvintti,_ Morg.”

  Morgan swore.

    “And how’s the Tsukki doing? Any chance of them regrouping?”

  Killian shook his head sombrely. “It looks like the _Vorvintti_ have blocked their route to the anti-vampire weapons. We didn’t prepare for the _Vorvintti_ to attack _tonight._ I’m afraid the squad might be— might be wiped out.”

  Morgan swore again.

The Tsukki squad was their _last_ chance at being able to properly defend themselves against the vampires.

  And now they were dead.

 

  Morgan held the barrel of the pistol to his forehead, the cool metal sizzling against his skin. He furiously racked his brains, thinking of a way to survive the impending doom.

    “…Dad, what about the Chrysalis?”

    “What about it?”

    “It’s an anti-vampire weapon. Why don’t we use that—”

    “No. It’s too dangerous. Plus we… haven’t really figured out how to use it yet.”

  Morgan resisted the urge to glare at his father.

 

They might not have known how to use it, but it was their last and _only_ chance.

    “Where is it?”

    “Morgan, you’re not—”

    “It’s the only thing that can stop them! What if Rafaella’s here with them? What if she brings her—her whataretheycalled, her ‘minions’ or whatever?!”

    “Rafaella doesn’t turn humans.”

    “ _What?!_ What do mean, ‘she doesn’t turn humans’? She’s a progenitor, isn’t she?”

    “Yes, but she just _doesn’t._ She hasn’t turned anyone in over 700 years, at least that’s what I heard. She’s _never_ turned anyone in Jotai. And God-forbid if she does, otherwise we’re _definitely_ dead—”

    _“MORGAN…!”_

Erin screeched at his side, his voice high with pure terror as he squashed himself against Morgan’s side. Morgan whipped his head around quickly, already aiming his pistol.

  One of the raiders stalked toward them, but the columns of the gazebo made it difficult for them to aim. Before they could get a proper angle, Morgan breathed deeply, then whipped around the pillar and shot the raider in the head, right above his goggles. It was a perfect shot.

  The raider went down easily enough, and Morgan raced forward to retrieve their rifle. He flipped the safety back on before he tossed his pistol back to his younger brother, who managed to catch it between shaking fingers.

    “Dad, we need to get the lights on and grab the Chrysalis.”

    “It’s too dangerous, Morgan, and we don’t know if it’ll work—”

    “It’s fine if _I_ do it, isn’t it? Don’t worry about yourself. You take Erin and get the lights back on. The power box is in the Akatsuki’s rooms, right?”

    “Morgan—”

    “I’ll be fine, dad.”

  Killian looked positively distraught, but he nodded. His father stood hastily and Morgan grew still, surprised, as his father moved toward him and gently kissed him on the forehead.

  He clapped a large hand on Morgan’s back.

    “Good luck, son. Don’t-don’t die on me.”

 

 

 

  Slipping around the edge of the main hall and treading as quietly as possible, Morgan managed—somehow— to slip into the deserted emergency stairwell unseen. Clutching the rifle to his chest like a lifeline, he treaded up the stairs, panting heavily. He wasn’t at all unfit, but the stress of the night was getting to him. With every breath he managed to drag into his lungs, the less it felt like he was getting. He felt as though he just wasn’t getting enough _air._

  Passing his brother’s floor, then eventually his own, Morgan was nearly breathless by the time he reached his father’s penthouse. Kicking the plain white door open with some difficulty, he raced into the room. The rifle clattered out of his grip as he dropped to his hands and knees, taking in heavy, ragged breaths.

 

    _A-am I having a panic attack…?_

Clutching his side, Morgan tried to steady his breathing. He didn’t have time for a panic attack right now.

  With some difficulty, Morgan dragged himself up from the maroon carpet and made his way to his father’s giant desk. Sitting heavily in the swivel chair behind it, he pulled open various draws, looking for the black suitcase. Naturally, just as he’d begun to _really_ panic, Morgan found the suitcase in the very last draw, still with its code-input pad and thumb-print scanner.

 

    _Shit…!_

Morgan swore at the realisation he’d have to _somehow_ bring the suitcase back to his father if he had _any_ hope of using the Chrysalis.

    _Wait. If him and Erin are at the Akatsuki’s quarters, which also happens to be where the anti-vampire weapons are stored… maybe…_

Making up his mind, he tightly gripped the suitcase in one hand and the rifle in the other, making his way back to the stairwell. He’d much rather have taken the elevator, which would’ve taken him straight to the Akatsuki’s hideout, but he wasn’t really sure whether it would’ve worked. The power appeared to only be out on the main hall’s level; the lights were on fine in Killian’s penthouse.

  With a final shrug and then a sigh, Morgan descended the empty stairwell, his feet echoing loudly around him.

 

 

 

  The distant sound of gunfire, shouts, and screams filled Morgan’s ears as he made his way down the stairs. Any time he’d come close to a door, he’d quiet is steps and stifle his heavy breathing, just in case one of the _Vorvintti_ were just outside. He counted every door he came to uneasily, until, finally, he’d reached the Akatsuki’s hideout.

  Placing his ear against the stark white of the door, he pricked his ears and listened carefully. The now-familiar sounds of gunfire and shouting rang from the metal of the door, but it was very distant; hardly any noise at all, and seemed to be masked by a distant rumble.

    _They must be in the weapons cache._ Morgan thought.

  Using the nozzle of the rifle, Morgan slowly opened the door, careful should it squeal on its hinges. To his immense relief, the door remained silent, and Morgan stepped into the deserted corridor ahead. It was much like a glitzy hotel corridor, with bare wooden-panelled walls and doors, and red carpeting. Though to him, it had a familiar sense of home; he’d grown up walking along these corridors where the other members of Akatsuki slept.

  Walking quickly along the corridor, Morgan thanked whatever gods were watching him that the floor was carpeted. If he had been caught then, he’d be dead.

  There were several corridors like this one, with row upon row of doors leading from the corridor to various member’s rooms, numbers adorning their surfaces. Just as he passed room 467, he stopped at the edge of the corridor, then slowly peered around the wall.

  A large fountain— more of a waterfall, really— sprayed water in a loud wave to his right. At this point the sounds of fighting were much louder; he was getting close to the cache.

  He slipped from the edge of the wall and silently ran to the waterfall, where he crouched behind a leafy pot-plant, gently placing the rifle and suitcase on the now marbled ground. Tapping at the communicator that looked much like a silver-screened watch at his wrist, he wrote a message to Killian.

 

    **Where r u?**

 

  Within a couple of seconds, his father’s reply dinged from the little device.

 

    **Power box. Haven’t run into vamps. Erin safe.**

Morgan thought this was incredibly unlikely; shouldn’t the power box be guarded?

 

    **No guards?**

**None. Really weird. All in weapons store I think. B careful. Heard Rafaella might b here.**

Morgan froze at that.

If Rafaella _were_ there, they all had little chance of surviving; he hadn’t seen her in action yet, but the way her underlings behaved around her told him enough at what she might be capable of.

 

    **Ok. B there soon.**

  With a sense of unease slinking around inside his belly, he sent the message to his father, then tightened the suitcase and rifle in his grip. He _had_ to get there, no matter what.

  The hall opposite the waterfall was usually filled with Akatsuki members. Tables, couches, bars and TV’s spanned across the lush red carpeting, which turned into white marble near the waterfall. It looked nearly like a casino, with all its grandeur, but to Morgan it was simply home.

  He crossed the hall, and stopped short as he realised something was out of place.

 

  In between crooked tables and chairs, slouched across blood-stained couches, and in pieces here in there on stained bits of carpet, were _bodies._

  Not just any bodies, either. Every single one of them belonged to a member of the Akatsuki.

 

  Morgan’s knees grew wobbly at the realisation that so many of his comrades had been killed. He dimly noted the many bullet holes peppering the furniture, and the blood that coated nearly every surface. Though some of them looked like they’d been shot, some, Morgan noted, looked like they’d been _torn to pieces._

Like an animal had done this.

He continued slowly this time, the rifle heavy in his right hand. Stepping around the furniture and bodies, Morgan was numb as he took in the horrific scene. Not even tears would fall; there was only a heavy tightness in his chest. As he neared the corridor that went off toward the power box, he found the worst corpse yet.

  The top half of the man’s body— Morgan didn’t know who it was— was near the wall, the bottom at least a metre away. His entrails— stomach, liver, kidneys and intestines— were strewn across the gap, his spine poking out from beneath the torn pieces of his tux. His chest cavity was torn open, his ribs poking out from between tattered fabric. His heart was decidedly missing, but Morgan realised it was a few metres away, squished into a ball like it had been crushed by a great weight. The man’s head was barely on his shoulders, only held together by tatters of skin.

  Worst of all, was the blood. It splattered every conceivable surface around the man— from the walls, to the floor, to the ceiling; fat red drops dripping every now and then to the stained carpet below.

  To his credit, Morgan didn’t scream.

He did, however, vomit. Stumbling away and nearly stepping on the man’s heart, he raced into the corridor leading away from the hall, and managed to walk a few metres before an acid feeling, coupled with nausea, twisted violently inside his stomach, then came up through his throat in a retch.

  He vomited against one of the Akatsuki’s bedroom doors, and wouldn’t stop for several long, retched moments.

  Panting heavily, he first wiped his mouth, then his sweaty forehead.

That same broiling nausea still twisted in his gut, but he didn’t think he had any food left to puke out.

  In his short life, he’d seen some terrible things; he _was_ a gang-boss’ son after all.

But that— that was straight out of a nightmare.

 

  Still panting, he slowly made his way across the hall, eventually making his way to the power box.

To the right at the end of the corridor was the path leading to the bathrooms, and on the wall opposite was a large grey box outlined with hazard warnings.

  The power box.

Standing beside it, looking around wearily, was Killian, now holding a rifle of his own. To his side, shivering uncontrollably, was Erin, still holding the pistol he’d given him. Killian was right; nowhere near the power box where any kind of guards, which struck Morgan as incredibly odd. Padding ahead, he joined his family.

 

    “…Dad!” Morgan panted.

    “Morgan! Jesus, you look like shit; did you run into anyone on the way here? Is that- _is that vomit?_ ”

  Morgan glanced down at the small splatter that had somehow managed to stain his tux. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was distantly annoyed; suits were expensive.

    “Yeah, long story. Everyone’s dead in the hall, dad.”

    “… I figured as much. We went in the other direction, took the long way. Guess it was better…” He glanced down at Erin briefly.

    “No shit. Did you get the lights in main hall on yet?”

  Killian nodded. “Got it up and running just a bit before you got here yourself.”

    “Alright. Anyway get this thing open…! We need to figure out how to use it.”

  Killian looked a little disheartened, but nodded and placed his thumb against the scanner. He tapped in the code, and the suitcase opened with a _click._ Still sitting in its cushion of black foam was the Chrysalis, glittering blue and pink like it had a heart of its own.

    “It’s pretty…!” Erin exclaimed.

    “Yeah, and hopefully it kills us some vampires too.” Morgan placed the case in his father’s arms then gingerly prised the crystal from the foam. It was still pleasantly warm to the touch, and beat faintly in time with his heart; a little pulse of life in the palm of his hand.

    “How do you suppose it works?” Killian asked.

Morgan looked at him in disbelief. “Wait so you have absolutely _no idea whatsoever_ how it works?” His tongue rolled across the r’s in his exasperation.

    “We could try googling it…?” Erin squeaked.

  Morgan sighed, then smiled. “Thanks lil’ bro, but I don’t think google can help us right now. It looks like it’s up to us. Dad, got _any_ suggestions, like, at all?”

    “Um… I heard it works like, a divine weapon…”

    “Which means…?”

    “I think it… let’s out some kind of ‘holy’ energy that repels— or kills— vampires.”

    “You’re sure about that?”

    “Well, no, obviously.”

  He sighed again, the nausea in his stomach flaring briefly. “Whatever it might be, we need it. It’s probably like any old magic stone; you gotta’ just… I don’t know, _will_ it to work.”

    “Are you sure, son?”

    “Well, no, obviously.”

  Killian grinned tiredly as the sound of rushing feet suddenly filled the hallway.

The three of them tensed, exhausted but ready to fight the enemy.

  They needn’t have worried.

Up ahead, three members of the Akatsuki emerged from around the corner leading to the weapons cache. They all looked similarly exhausted but alert, each holding their own rifle, still dressed in their evening suits.

 

    “Killian…!” One of them exclaimed.

 

  The three Akatsuki raced forward. The man who had talked first, Bronco, was typically tall and buff, with only a stripe of black hair across his skull like a punk-mohawk.

    “Thank god you’re alive, man. Look, we’re seriously fucked—” He stopped, startled, as he glanced down at Erin. “Sorry…! Urr, we’re seriously _screwed,_ Killian. They- they’ve killed nearly all the men in Tsukki, and Akai isn’t lookin’ too good either. We’re in a bind here. I think we should probably evacuate the remaining members and head over to Lyn City—”

    “No.” Morgan stepped forward, and Bronco stepped back, startled by his tenacity. “Look, we have the Chrysalis. If we could just figure out how to make it work, we could regain the weapons cache, and maybe even push them out…!”

    “There’s a very small chance that’d work, Morgan. More importantly, _how_ do you think you’re going to get that fucking crystal to work?” Killian was exasperated himself, but more than anything he just seemed exhausted. They all were.

    “I don’t fucking know—”

    “Language.”

    “—But we gotta’ try _something._ If we just let them take over the base…”

    “That’s not what they’re here for.”

  Everyone turned as Bronco spoke; his voice was deadly serious. “We heard them talking before we managed to run. They want _that_.” He pointed at the Chrysalis glinting between Morgan’s fingers. “And they’re not gonna’ stop until they have it.”

    “Maybe we should just… _give_ it to them…” Erin spoke quietly, but everyone heard his dejected voice. Morgan hated seeing his brother like this.

    “No way, we can’t do that. Then we’d have _no way_ of fighting them ba—”

 

  The group stopped abruptly as the sound of walking feet echoed against the marble down the hall. From where the three Akatsuki emerged came a group of six people—

    _No, not people…_ Morgan realised.

 

_Vampires._

They walked casually; one of them even had his arms clasped behind his head. But there was something not natural about the way they did it; their movements were far too smooth, their muscles flexing and moving with cat-like grace that you’d only see in an experienced dancer, not members of the mafia. They were unnaturally beautiful, but not in a super-model way. Their pale, alabaster skin was like flawless marble, and seemed to glow from within with an ethereal light. Their veins stuck out, black against their skin, and their various eyes glittered and sparkled like the eyes of animals. They were all dressed fashionably well, as members of the mafia would, except their designer clothes were covered in blood, from head to toe; blood, Morgan thought, that definitely did _not_ belong to them.

  The one with his hands clasped behind his head stepped forward first, his mouth slowly creasing into a grin, bone-white fangs glittering between his full red lips. He wore a blood-splattered dress shirt, tie and black trousers, like he’d recently come from a formal party, and had lightly tousled blonde hair and blue eyes— typical teenage-girl fodder.

 

    “Well shit, look who it is. We’ve been looking for you, Killian.”

 

  His voice was young and high spirited; he _was_ young, Morgan realised— he didn’t possess that surreal old-timeliness that Rafaella had. He did, however, possess her charm and supernatural beauty, though Morgan didn’t sense he was nearly as powerful as her. “Fuck man, your boys put up a fight, but ah, well… They weren’t _us_ , y’see…”

    “Who are you?” Killian interrupted. If it as one thing he hated, it was snotty kids. Morgan learnt that the hard way.

    “Hmm? Me specifically, or…? I’m Roman—”

    “No, not specifically. You’re _Vorvintti,_ I take it, but you’re not of Rafaella’s blood.”

  Roman himself looked irritated at having been interrupted. “No, obviously. Everyone knows Rafaella doesn’t sire, old man. Don’t be dumb. We’re descendants of _Vorvintti_ directly; descendants of Rafaella. God humans are _so_ stupid—”

 

    “Roman.”

 

  A female vampire behind Roman spoke up, her voice flat and serious. She was a looker too, dressed in a simple black cocktail dress, barefoot, with a severe purple bob that cut around her white cheeks. Her startlingly bright red eyes that glittered with snake-like pupils scanned the Akatsuki, steady and appraising, like a lion observing her prey. “The tall one has the Chrysalis.”

  Everyone froze.

Morgan hastily pulled his arm holding the Chrysalis behind his back.

    “ _Which_ tall one, Megan? They’re _all_ fucking tall. You have to be more specific, we discussed this, remem—”

    “The one with the crow hair and the glasses, Roman.” A tinge of annoyance entered her flat voice.

    “Crow hair…?” Roman squinted as he searched the crowd for Morgan. It would’ve been funny, a vampire squinting, if their lives weren’t on the line. “OH..! _Crow hair,_ I see. Hey you, kid!”

  Morgan’s eyes narrowed. He had no idea what to do to get out of this situation.

  If only he knew how to use the fucking Chrysalis…!

 

  He stepped forward, pushing the other members of Akatsuki aside, even as they looked at him with worry. He looked into Roman’s icy blue eyes, his head held high as he faced the vampire.

    “What?”

    “Won’t you give me the Chrysalis? I mean, I _could_ just take it, but that’d be messy. I want to salvage this suit; it’s Amani.”

    “No.” A twist of panic tinged Morgan’s stomach as he replied.

    “… _‘No’?_ Dude, are you crazy? We literally _just_ killed like, a hundred of your men, _single handed,_ and you’re telling me _no?_ ”

  Morgan nodded, shrugging his shoulders like he was saying _‘What can you do?’_ Roman laughed, slightly exasperated, his fangs noticeably catching the light, his voice filling the hall with a bell-like soprano. “Look at this guy, who are you?”

 

  He nodded back toward his dad. “I’m his son.”

  The group of vampires looked at each other, passing glances but not saying anything. Roman only smiled, like a child on Christmas. “ _Killian’s_ kid? I don’t see the resemblance, to be honest. But fuck, that’s fantastic…”

    “How?”

    “’Cause now I can do this.”

  Faster than Morgan could even _begin_ to comprehend, Roman was in front of him, and had his wrist clasped between his hand. His grip was so hard, Morgan could feel the bones grinding against each other with the threat of breaking. He tried desperately to grip the Chrysalis and raise the rifle in his other hand, but if Roman even put in the tiniest amount of pressure, he’d have no choice but to let go.

 

  Then, Roman broke his wrist.

With a very audible _snap_ that reverberated along his entire body _,_ a fire of pain flared up his arm, and he let the crystal go. Before it could fall to the ground, Roman released him and caught it out of the air with ease. Morgan screamed out once, short and sharp, then gritted his teeth as Roman took the Chrysalis and clutched his wrist to his chest. His teeth grating together, his wrist pulsed with a fiery ache that ran down the entire length of his arm. He struggled not to fall to his knees. He’d felt worse.

    “Oops. I just don’t know my own strength.” Roman was overjoyed at seeing the pain on Morgan’s face.

    “You fucking little—” Killian stepped forward, raising the rifle.

    “Dad.” Morgan spat through gritted teeth. “Its fine, let it be.”

  Despite the haze of pain, Morgan knew the situation was still very much dire, even if the _Vorvintti_ now had the Chrysalis. If his dad did something reckless or pissed these vampires off, the whole lot of them wouldn’t live. It was strange being the rational one for a change.

    “But, Morgan… This bastard…!”

  Roman whipped around quickly. “I _hope_ you don’t mean _moi?_ ”

    “Who the fuck else would I be talking abou—”

  Killian stopped abruptly as Roman brought his foot around and kicked Morgan in the jaw. He went flying, skidding across the marble some distance away.

  Now his jaw flared with raw pain, contending with the ache in his wrist. He couldn’t move for several moments; the wind was practically knocked out of him. He drew in one ragged breath, then stopped as the pain was too much for his jaw to handle. He breathed again through his nose, which didn’t feel much better, as he slowly tried to lift himself from the ground with his uninjured hand. Tasting blood in his mouth and feeling foreign _things_ clacking against his teeth, he spat. Through the pain of working his jaw, Morgan was dimly aware of the several teeth peppering the blood across the marble.

    “…You… _BASTARD…!”_

  Killian shouted, and fired his rifle, the other members of the Akatsuki following suit. To Morgan’s surprise, Roman didn’t even move, he only took all the bullets, swaying slightly from the force, as it tore apart his suit. Even Erin managed to fire off a couple of shots that unfortunately went wide. To everyone’s surprise, Roman dropped the Chrysalis, which went clacking against the floor toward Killian’s feet. The Akatsuki hadn’t let up their relentless assault, and to Morgan’s surprise the other vampires hadn’t even moved forward to lift a finger to help. Were they scared of the bullets?

    _… Maybe they’re scared of the Chrysalis…?_ Morgan thought distantly, too blinded by pain to focus much.

  Erin managed to kneel down and pick up the Chrysalis as the rifles continued to fire, placing it into Killian’s free hand. Roman only stood still, taking the bullets, until after a moment he appeared to grow bored. He slowly begun walking to where Morgan lay sitting up, blood dribbling from his broken jaw.

 

    “STOP!” Killian shouted, as Roman moved closer to Morgan. Panic laced his voice that Morgan was only dimly aware of, as occupied by pain as he was. The Akatsuki ceased firing, worried that they might hit him.

  Soon Roman stood over him. The back of Morgan’s neck prickled, like someone was watching him. He looked up painfully, but was only able to make out the vague shape of Roman’s body, covered in blood; his glasses had been knocked off when he was kicked.

  No one could move when Roman lifted a foot, and stepped on one of Morgan’s legs, breaking the bone.

    A second loud _snap_ echoed across the marble of the hallway.

It was more of a shock at first than pain, but then the pain hit. Just like his wrist and jaw, it was a burning flare, than a pulsating ache without rest. He cried out, much louder this time, his voice hoarse, carrying across the marble.

    “If you don’t give me the crystal, I’ll break something else.” Roman didn’t take his eyes away from Morgan, his voice now completely flat and devoid of emotion, similar to that other vampire, Megan. He shivered at the complete lack of humanity.

    “I-I… I can’t- my son—” Morgan had never before heard his father so hesitant, his voice wavering so much.

  He didn’t have time to worry.

 

  Roman bent down and grabbed him by his shirt collar, hoisting him violently to his feet. The vampire was so incredibly strong, he had no choice but to be carried like a rag doll, crying out sharply as weight was placed on the broken bone of his shin. He swayed as he stood, barely conscious.

    “Last chance,” was all Roman said.

    “I…. Morgan…!”

  Roman brought Morgan’s neck toward his lips, his mouth opening to reveal thick, long, fully-elongated fangs dripping with saliva.

 

    “That’s enough, Roman.”

 

  A coffee-colorued hand clamped down—hard—on Roman’s shoulders.

    _Rafaella._


	5. Dad vs. The World's Toughest Old Lady

Roman obeyed immediately, letting go of Morgan where he crumpled to the floor like a doll whose strings had been cut. Rafaella knelt beside him, and she pulled him close, allowing him to rest his weight on her soft but steely body.

    “R-Rafaella! I didn’t know you were coming…!”

    “Of course you didn’t, you _filthy_ half-breed.” Her voice was like icy venom; poisonous and toxic. Morgan shivered despite her immense heat.

    _… Roman wasn’t warm like this…_ He wondered. It was becoming increasingly difficult for him to maintain rational thoughts.

    “Did I not _specifically_ say that I _claimed_ Morgan Takashima?”

  Roman gasped, visibly shocked, for a moment vulnerably human. “ _Claimed?_ I thought y-you didn’t sire…”

    “I don’t. And I stand by that. Takashima is a plaything only; I claimed him so you wouldn’t get your grubby little hands on him, but look at how _that_ turned out!” She was incredibly angry; her body was becoming increasingly hot as she held Morgan.

    “I- I didn’t know…” Roman turned around, looking at the other vampires behind him. Megan offered him a response.

    “We didn’t have time to tell you. You had already broken his wrist, so…”

  Rafaella swung to face Megan. He couldn’t see her eyes, but he imagined they must’ve been terrifying, because the previously-stoic Megan visibly flinched. Her heat pressed against him was now uncomfortably warm, like he was sitting beside a furnace.

    “His wrist _clearly_ isn’t the only thing that’s broken, is it? He can’t stand on his leg, there’s blood everywhere, and is that _teeth on the ground?!_ You didn’t bother to stop him? You’re all partly to blame for this!”

  The vampires, including Roman and Megan, avoided her gaze, like they were ten-years-old and being told off for breaking a plate. Rafaella sighed, then redirected her gaze, softer now, to Killian.

    “We’re friends aren’t we, Killian? Won’t you give me the Chrysalis? I swear on this clan we’ll leave you alone. I only ask that I take Morgan with me.”

  The whole time Killian had been twirling the crystal between his fingers, his head creased in deep thought. He looked up as Rafaella talked to him directly, his eyes firm.

    “No. You can’t have my son.”

  Rafaella first looked shocked, then visibly _pouted,_ like a child. “But I can have the Chrysalis?”

Killian looked down at the crystal, then back at Rafaella’s expectant eyes, sighing.

    _N-no…!_ Morgan despaired, his consciousness failing him. _Don’t… give it to her…_

    “You’ll have to take it from me.”


	6. This is the Part Where I Die... Sort of

 

  Rafaella stared, long and hard at Killian, her face a mask.

She was exceedingly beautiful, Killian noticed with a dull sort of interest. She had a kind of cultured, Hispanic air about her that made it difficult not to like her. But her eyes, that same ruby-red as his son’s, unnerved him; this woman was a monster, not capable of human understanding.

  He saw that now especially when the pupils in her eyes became slits and glowed a faint red, like a burning star in the middle of her iris. She pulled back her full, sensual lips from her elongating teeth, and a shiver rippled along the hairs of Killian’s back.

    “Fine.” She growled more than said, “If I can’t have your son, or the Chrysalis, then _neither can you._ ”

  Before anyone could move to stop her, she bit down hard at Morgan’s exposed neck. He was so weak with pain and exhaustion, he couldn’t even cry out, only managing a half-hearted gurgle. The Chrysalis dropped from Killian’s hand and clattered across the marble, lying still at his feet.

  Rafaella _tore_ at his throat with her sharp teeth, Morgan coughing and spluttering as blood sprayed out between his lips. With one final lurch, Rafaella tore out Morgan’s throat, turning back and spitting it across the marble.

 

    “ _Noooo…!”_ Killian screamed. He dropped to his knees, his ears filled with a strange kind of ringing as his son bled out onto the white of the marble.

 

  His son was dead.

 

  Tears spilled out of Killian’s eyes, falling into his moustache. He touched them with the tips of his fingers with surprise; he hadn’t cried a drop since his wife had died.

 

  He’d failed her.

On her deathbed he’d promised Eriko he’d look after their sons with his life. He meant it too; the Akatsuki, the millions the gang had, the influence, his very own life— none of it mattered if his son’s lives were in danger.

  And now Morgan was dead, his lifeblood a pool spreading across the tiles.

 

  Killian felt a warm weight at his knee. Looking down, the Chrysalis glittered its unique light across the marble.

  He _would not_ let the vampire witch get away with this.

Holding the Chrysalis against the ground between his thumb and forefinger, he lifted his rifle, twisting it in his grip so that the butt of the gun was facing downwards.

    “Rafaella,” he said, his voice hoarse and sad, “Save my son.”

 

  She looked up at him, her cheeks and chin stained red with Morgan’s blood.

    “He’s already dead.” She smiled, her deadly incisors grazing her bottom-lip. Killian wouldn’t have it.

    “If you don’t save my son, I’ll smash it.” He said it as a statement, matter-of-fact; there was no room for doubt in his voice.

    “You can’t smash it. It is a powerful holy weapon—”

    “I’ll throw it out of a window. I’ll swallow it. I’ll throw it into the ocean. I’ll throw it into the Void. I’ll do _everything_ in my power to prevent you from ever laying eyes on it again.”

  It wasn’t an empty threat.

Killian was prepared to lay down his _life_ to stop her from getting this crystal.

 

  Rafaella turned her head to the side, looking for all the world like a puppy listening to something odd. She didn’t look human, that’s for sure. After several moments, she seemed to make up her mind.

    “As you wish. I’ll give him my blood, but if he wakes up, it’s up to him. I could just kill you and take the crystal for myself right here, did you consider that?”

  He had.

    “My men will distract you; I’ll run, fling it outside a window, do _something—_ ”

    “Yes, yes I know. ‘Anything in your power’. Fine, Killian. I can’t be bothered with this anymore.”

  She sounded tired herself, though Killian didn’t believe she was capable of understanding the feeling. He had the feeling _nothing_ could tire this woman.

 

  Rafaella placed Morgan on the ground, none-too-gently, and stood. She dusted off her hands on her jeans and readjusted the straps on her tank top. She was clearly taking her time.

    “ _Rafaella, I swear…”_

    “Okay, okay. Relax, old man.”

  She placed her wrist at her lips then bit down, hard. Her blood welled around the wound; it was thick and cloying, more like syrup than blood, and was a red so deep and dark, it was nearly black. But there was a lot of it, and she dripped it over Morgan’s exposed throat liberally enough.

 Before their very eyes, Morgan began to heal.

His oesophagus knitted back together, the muscles and tendons following suit, regrowing the throat Rafaella had torn out. His skin grew back over the exposed muscle, until there was no wound at all, the only indication that there hadn’t even been a _throat_ moments before being the puckered red colour of Morgan’s skin.

    “There.”

  Rafaella dusted her hands, and Killian noticed the skin on her wrist knit back together, any free blood flowing _back into_ the wound just as quickly as Morgan had regrown his throat. “He _should_ live—”

    “‘ _Should’?_ ”

    “—But if he doesn’t, that isn’t my fault. He needs to bring himself back from death. Not everyone can do that. Now, where is my Chrysalis, Killian?”

  Killian was still staring at his son, trying to discern his condition.

  He wasn’t breathing.

 

    “He isn’t breathing…!”

  Rafaella turned around, only mildly surprised. “Like I said, he needs to bring _himself_ back from death. There isn’t anything I can do about it.”

   “ _He’s not breathing—”_

 

  Everyone grew silent as Morgan suddenly drew in a ragged breath.

  Then another.

  Then another.

His breathing was laboured, and the intervals between each breath was a little too long, but he was alive.

  Thank god, he was alive.

    “See? He’s fine. The crystal, old man.”

  Killian took the crystal into his hand, the heat of its surface strangely warmer than before, almost blistering hot, like he was holding a freshly cooked egg.

  He won’t be taking any more risks.

    “Here, take it.”

  He held it out in front of him. Rafaella turned to Roman, who was still pale. He flinched at her voice.

    “Take it, you moron.”

    “R-right!” He raced forward, stumbling _—_ a vampire, _tripping over his own feet_ — and took the crystal from Killian’s outstretched palm without a second glance.

  Killian was slightly puzzled.

He guessed it must’ve showed on his face, because Rafaella answered, “A _pure_ progenitor cannot touch the holy stone, for obvious reasons. Roman, however, is a half-breed; a mixture of human and vampire. Atrocious, I know, but it’s hard times for the _Vorvintti;_ not everyone can interbreed like animals.” She said it with a sneer.

 

  With that being the last thing she said to Killian, she turned on her booted heel and left, her entourage of vampires following close behind.


	7. Imagine the Cleaning Bill

 

  Everyone was too shocked to move or say anything.

    “Th-they just… _left._ ” Bronco exclaimed in disbelief.

    “M-Morgan…” Erin mumbled beside Killian.

    _Erin._

He’d completely forgotten his youngest son was even there. He must’ve seen…!

Killian turned around on his knees, until he faced Erin, and gripped his little arms in his own large, calloused ones.

    “Son, Erin. Are you alright?”

  Erin nodded uneasily.

    “Your brother… Morgan is okay. He’s going to be okay. You understand?” He prodded his son, not unkindly. Erin nodded again, big fat tears streaking down his cheeks.

    “Killian, what should we do with Morgan?” Bronco spoke gently.

  Killian glanced at his son.

Though he was drawing in breaths—albeit with a little difficulty—his body was utterly still, like a doll.

    _Or a corpse._ Killian thought.

    “Shouldn’t we take him to a hospital?” Bronco continued.

  Before Killian could stop him, Erin raced forward, kneeling in front of Morgan and blocking him from view. A few moments of stunned silence ensued, before Erin spoke.

    “His teeth…”

  Killian raced forward at the confusion in his son’s voice, the other members of Akatsuki following close behind.

    “… They grew back.”

  Killian looked into Morgan’s mouth, where he drew ragged breaths. Sure enough, despite the very real teeth lying in a puddle of blood beside Morgan, there weren’t _any_ missing in his mouth.

    “Look at his arm! And his leg…!” Bronco’s voice rose as he pointed them out.

  Just as he said, Killian checked both his wrist, and his leg. His wrist was an angry red, but looked completely healthy, twisting around normally in Killian’s strong grasp. The same could be said for his shin; an angry red, but otherwise perfectly fine. His face was otherwise unmarked; no bruises, cuts or marks to show he’d had a broken jaw only moments before.

    “… Maybe we don’t even _have_ to drag him to a hospital…” Bronco said to no-one in particular.

  He was right. From what Killian could discern, Morgan didn’t have a _single_ wound on him. Even his breathing was becoming easier and less laboured; coming in deep, healthy breaths.

But he was still very much unconscious, and something else was concerning him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

  Apparently Erin had had similar thoughts. He put one of his small child hands to his forehead, and the other to Morgan’s. After a few beats, he turned to Killian, his round face creased with concern.

    “H-he’s really warm…!” Erin exclaimed. “Like, he has a fever…!”

  Mimicking his son, Killian checked Morgan’s temperature. His son’s skin was swelteringly hot; he could feel the heat radiating from his skin from at least a ruler’s length away.

    “It might just be the healing,” he said thoughtfully, “It’d make sense since it must somehow make his metabolism work faster…”

  The Akatsuki members nodded their agreement, though he knew probably only half of them actually understood what he said.

    “Yeah, that makes sense, Boss.” Bronco said, much to his surprise; he seemed to genuinely understand. “I’ll take him up to his room then, to ‘heal’. But if he doesn’t get better…”

    “Of course.” Killian replied. “We’ll take him to a hospital.”

 

  As Bronco gingerly took Morgan into his arms, even his face lit up in surprise at the immense heat. After a moment, though, he continued on his way, Erin tagging along close behind.

 

  Glancing around at the blood-stained corridor, Killian sighed as he realised the horrendous task ahead of him.


	8. This is the Part Where I Come Back to Life... Sort of

 

  His body was on fire.

 

Now, Morgan knew his body probably wasn’t _literally_ on fire—probably—but it still felt like it. It wasn’t so bad near the tips of his fingers and toes; more of a pleasant warmth than burning. But the closer the heat got to his heart, the more it seriously _burned._

  His heart.

It beat a furious rhythm inside his chest, like a gorilla banging haphazardly on a set of drums. Its irregularity and the strength of every beat sent a wave of pain from his chest to everywhere else, mingling in with the searing fire in his limbs. He imagined this was what a heart-attack probably felt like. He tried wriggling his fingers and toes, but found much like his foot going to sleep and then waking up again, even the _tiniest_ movement sent an electric shock of pain up his nerves.

  Sighing mentally, he resigned himself to his current torture. It wasn’t so bad as, say, a vampire breaking his wrist. And leg. And jaw. If it was _one_ motto Morgan lived himself by, it was ‘it could be worse’.

  So what if his body was _mildly_ on fire? It could be worse.

  At least, that’s what he _thought_. At first.

 

 

  Just as Morgan had gotten the furious urge to tap out a rhythm to his heart with his finger, the fire from his heart had begun to _move._

His heart still violently pumped against his rib cage, but the fire in it had begun to move up his chest. If he had to equate it to anything, it was like a chronic case of heart-burn, only the acid coming up his oesophagus was lava. That also happened to be on fire.

  He swore he could _feel_ it scorching is skin as it moved, like something was literally melting the sides of his throat. Small licks of fire seemed to fill his mouth and burst across his tongue, like he’d just eaten the world’s hottest jalapeno. The fire eventually settled there, nestled in his throat, leaving his heart and the rest of his body eerily cool.

  Morgan found he could move the tips of his fingers and toes without an electric shock in return. But he didn’t dare move. The frantic beat of his heart was slowing, the rhythm smoothing out into a steady, heavy _thump._ It had never felt so strong. And it had never beat so slow, or so loud.

 

  After several moments of listening to his heart’s oddly slow and heavy beats, Morgan started to panic.

    _Am I dying…?_

He dismissed the thought immediately as the fire that still rested in his throat flared briefly, like it was reminding him that it was there.

 

    “—sure we shouldn’t take him to a hospital? Everything was healed, but…”

    “We just don’t have the time right now. Riei assured me he’s just fine; he only he has a bit of a fever.”

    “…It might be serious Killian—”

    “ _Leave it, Bronco.”_

_Are those… voices?_

  Morgan wasn’t exactly sure where he was, but it felt a lot like his large bed in his room. The voices, however, didn’t seem to be anywhere near him; they were far-off, he thought, but couldn’t explain _how_ he knew it. He also knew that someone was in the room with him.

  It wasn’t anything in particular that gave them away, despite the fact that they weren’t moving around. It was the clear sound of light breathing, the rustling of fabric as their chest rose and fell, and most noticeably, it was their—

    _Heartbeat._

 

  Morgan’s eyes snapped open.

The room was a blur, but he could very _clearly_ hear the heartbeat nearby.

    _One-two, one-two, one-two…_

Following every beat of the heart was a kind of _woosh_ sound as the blood followed. He looked around his room, but was only able to see the vague white shapes of simple things; his walls, his dresser, his shelves… And someone sitting on a chair pulled up to the edge of his bed.

    With a start, he realised _that’s_ where the heartbeat was so clearly coming from. He froze, sitting stock-still. He still hadn’t taken a breath, and was surprised he didn’t feel the need to do so, despite his heart still beating slow and steady. The shape’s heartbeat was slowly filling his ears, the follow up movement of blood getting louder and louder. The scorching fire in his throat had by no-means died down; in fact, as he listened, it seemed to pulse harder, until it even managed to fill his mouth. His lips were painfully dry, and as he ran an equally dry tongue over their cracked surface like sandpaper, he realised his jaw was aching painfully, pulsing in time with the stranger’s heartbeat. He was about to move to get up, when the person apparently realised he was awake.

 

    “…Oh! Morgan… You’re awake! Oh, you poor thing, you probably can’t see a thing, can you?”

 

  That was Riei’s voice.

 

  Since the time after his mother had died and his family had moved back to Jotai, his father had hired a professional nanny to replace their mother. She was a good woman; kind, loving, but stern and strict. Killian had made sure she was Japanese, so that growing up, his sons would know at least a fraction of their mother tongue.

  Morgan adored the woman; he often saw a lot of himself in her, but at that moment, he couldn’t focus on anything else other than the blood singing in her veins.

 

  Through the blurriness, he silently watched her cross the room and take his glasses from his bedside table and hold it out in front of him. With slow movements, he lifted his arm up and took them, careful not to touch her skin. He wasn’t exactly sure _why_ he was so hesitant to touch her, but at that time he simply didn’t feel like himself. Morgan placed the glasses on the bridge of his nose, and the world suddenly sharpened into focus.

 

    _Whoa…_

  When the world _sharpened_ into focus, it _really_ sharpened into focus. Soft morning light filtered in through the white curtains at his window, its red light splashing the room in warm, dazzling colours. It was like his vision had jumped from blurred shapes to the Discovery Channel in HD; every single surface struck out in extensive detail. He looked around the room in wonder; any glass that sparkled in the morning light took his attention first, their million facets clearer than anything he’d ever seen. Dust motes in the air grabbed his attention next, their tiny specks catching the light and shimmering like snowflakes. If he looked carefully enough, he could clearly see the million threads lining his curtains and bed sheets. He was briefly distracted by his own glasses; he could see the tiny imperfections, scratches and smudges in the glass, and he flared briefly with annoyance before his attention was taken elsewhere.

  Primarily, by his nanny.

  He’d never seen her before, he realised. Not properly. Not like this.

The wrinkles under her eyes and around her mouth told a story clear as day to Morgan, her deep, mahogany-brown eyes doing much the same as he gazed into their bottomless depths. Her straight black hair, pinned into a bun behind her neck and flecked with grey, held a billion threads that demanded his attention.

  Not so much, as he realised, as what was under her _skin_.

Every vein, every artery, pulsed with a soft light he hadn’t been able to see before. With every beat of her heart, the life under her skin pulsed a rhythm of its own that completely had Morgan enraptured.

 

  He sat, staring, probably with his mouth gaping open, before Riei said something he didn’t hear.

    “—rgan, are you listening? I asked you how you feel. You had a fever just a moment ago… Morgan?”

  He should probably have responded straight away; the anxiousness in her voice didn’t settle well with his stomach; it was almost like a tangible _thing_ around her that he could feel.

  Morgan took a breath, “Riei, I’m—”

 

    _Holy shit._

_Fuck._

_Fuck, oh man, shit._

  He hadn’t taken a breath since he’d opened his eyes; he hadn’t felt the need to, despite the odd slow beating of his heart. But he needed air to talk, and in that moment made the worst mistake of his life.

  Suddenly her scent was _everywhere_ ; stuck up his nostrils; in the back of his throat; on his tongue. It was like he’d stuck his head into one of her shirts, the smell was so strong. But it was what was lying in wait underneath her smell that struck him the most.

  It was both sickly sweet and salty savoury. It had the most beautiful complexity, like a song, but had a hard, thick edge to it that he couldn’t quite describe. Morgan’s stomach twisted and lurched, a sharp, grinding pain like a kind of grotesque hunger mincing at his insides. His jaw ached painfully as her taste filled his mouth, and Morgan was only dimly aware of a sudden sharp pain in his lower lip, before the fire in his throat became a blistering ache. Saliva immediately welled in his mouth, but he’d _never_ felt so thirsty in his life.

  Totally bewildered and overwhelmed by the sudden sensory onslaught, Morgan’s mind shut down completely.

 

  There was only the nectar she housed in her veins, and the hungry fire that burned in his. In a matter of _milliseconds,_ he had her satisfactorily pinned to the ground—he’d never felt so alive with energy, and she went down surprisingly easily, like a rag doll, with only a small gasp of sound.

All the better for him.

  He eagerly placed his lips against her pale, slender neck, and contemplated _how_ exactly he’d get to the blood beneath. He only thought for a fraction of a second before he went for the simplest solution, and tore through her neck with his teeth.

  Morgan bit down, his teeth easily slicing through the skin, and then her blood was in his mouth.

 

  Oh, the taste… it was _exactly_ like how he thought it would be; salty-sweet, hot and thick, sliding down his throat.

With every gulp, his body burned with a pleasant tingle. His limbs pulsed with a brilliant fire that thrummed with power. The fire in his throat was quenched, and the ache in his jaw completely disappeared.

    Morgan moaned softly with pleasure through the liquid between his teeth, before he was interrupted.

 

  He was only dimly aware of his bedroom door bursting open with a bang, before several people stepped in, then stopped abruptly at the scene before them.

  Morgan didn’t stop; the thought hadn’t even _occurred_ to him to do so, he only pulled his teeth from Riei’s neck, continuing instead to lap at her blood like an animal.

 

    “Oh my god…” a voice said.

    “He’s one of them…!” said another.

  Morgan decidedly chose to ignore them, but should they step closer and get in his way…

 

One of them did.

 

    “Morgan.”

 _This_ voice was old, wise, and undoubtedly familiar.

But it was getting too close.

  The familiar man took one step toward him, then another. Morgan let him step a third time before he turned away from Riei, pulling his lips over his teeth in a warning. He growled low and deep, somewhere in the back of his throat, and for the briefest of moments, was shocked that he was capable of making such as a noise. But that shock wore off quickly enough as the man took another step forward.

    “Morgan, listen to me. Please, you have to let her go, she’ll die. _Please._ ”

  The aching hunger in his belly hadn’t disappeared, and it gave another lurch at the scent of blood in the air, distracting him momentarily. He clutched his stomach as one of the other men who’d entered the room reached behind him and pulled out a black pistol.

  Morgan was briefly distracted by the pain in his stomach, but that was enough. One of the men aimed the gun at his thigh, and fired.

 

 

    “OW FUCKIN’ SHIT FUCK.” Morgan clutched his thigh, but the pain had already begun to lessen, if only by a fraction. As the pain was being replaced by an insanely irritating itching sensation, Morgan turned back to the shooter. “WHAT THE FUCK..?! THAT FUCKING HURT, BRONCO…!”

  Everyone froze, shocked still, including Morgan.

They all looked down at Morgan’s thigh as the bullet _fell_ from the wound and toppled onto the blood stained carpet below. In its stead, thick, ruby-red blood so dark it was nearly black that had leaked from the wound trickled _back_ in, before a curlicue of steam rippled up from the torn skin, and the wound was gone.

  No one moved, no one even _breathed,_ until a rattling gasp issued from one corner of the room.

    “Shit, Riei!” Killian growled anxiously. “Someone help me, we’ve got to take her to a hospital.”

   Morgan mumbled with difficulty between his fangs. “… I could probably—”

    “ _No._ ” Killian barked sharply. “You’ve done enough.”

  The harshness in his voice froze Morgan to the spot, like he was a kid again, the anger surrounding him so thick and tangible he clamped his mouth shut straight away. He didn’t bother to move as Akatsuki members rushed into the room and gingerly took Riei away. In one small, dark corner of his mind, he pined after her, despairing that someone had taken his prey.

  But he quelled that thought immediately down as far as it would go as he simply sat there, on the carpet, making sense of all that had happened.

 

  Whether it was somehow a miracle, a joke played by the Empress, or a curse, Morgan was now a vampire. Worse still, he was _Vorvintti._


	9. My Nanny is Fine, Thanks for Asking

 

  Morgan could only continue to sit on the blood-stained carpet, paralysed.

He stared down at his hands as the morning light filtered into his room. It was strange, he thought.   

They were both his hands, and they weren’t; the small wrinkles that had laced his palms and the backs of his hands were subdued, nearly smoothed into completely clear skin. Any blemishes or spots he had had were gone, as were the many callouses he had gained over the years from target practice and work; he’d never seen his thumb so smooth and free of loose skin before. He still managed to have a slight tan as usual, but just like the wrinkles in his skin, the colour was subdued and washed-out. More than the seemingly doll-like smoothness to his skin, was the fine tracery of veins just under its startlingly pale surface; they were a purplish colour, nearly black, and appeared to run along his entire hand, from his forearm to the very tips of his fingers.

 

  With a start, Morgan realised someone was standing at his bedroom door.

Just like before, he wasn’t alerted to the person through his _sight,_ but through his _hearing._ Sharp, soft intakes of breath; the rustle of fabric like the whispering of leaves—too erratic to be unnoticeable. More than that, though, was the heartbeat. Fast and frantic, like the flutter of a bird, but also small and delicate.

  He turned to the door, already guessing at who it might be.

 

  Erin stood in the morning light of the doorway, dressed, in all things, Spider-Man PJ’s. Morgan would’ve laughed, if he wasn’t so bone-tired and not himself.

  He couldn’t bring himself to speak; he was afraid of drawing in another breath. Luckily, he didn’t have to.

    “Morg?” His voice was small and distant in Morgan’s ears. He could barely meet his brother’s eyes. After several fluttering of Erin’s heartbeats, Morgan cleared his throat uneasily, somewhat relieved the flames had died down, and his fangs had retreated into his gums.

    “E-Erin… Now isn’t really… isn’t really a good time—”

    “You’re okay…!”

  Before he could stop him, Erin had already raced into the room. He wrapped his scrawny, gangly arms around Morgan’s shoulders. Morgan couldn’t move, startled by the sudden touch of warmth and life. Big, fat tears streamed down Erin’s cheeks, unchecked, pooling onto Morgan’s shirt through the fabric. He dimly realised he was still wearing the red button-down shirt from the night before.

    “I th-thought… I didn’t think…! You were dead but, that vampire lady...! She…”

  His voice suddenly trailed off into silence, the sobs shaking his frame slowing down. His tiny frame grew eerily still. Morgan’s stomach tensed suddenly with anxiety at the sudden quiet of his younger brother. The shift in his mood was tangible; he could _taste_ it on his tongue.

    Fear.

  Morgan sensed pure, unadulterated _fear._

  Carefully, gingerly, like he was handling fragile, cracked glass, he gently took his brother’s arms from his shoulders. Erin didn’t resist. He took several steps back from where Morgan was crouched on the floor, and it was then that Morgan saw his face.

  Tears still stained Erin’s cheeks, but his eyes were wide, his mouth parted. He wasn’t looking at Morgan, not at first, but instead at something behind him.

  Morgan whipped his head around, worried that another _Vorvintti_ had come in through the window. He stopped as he realised what it was his brother was _really_ seeing. A thick pool of blood had sunk into one corner of the room, the corner Morgan still remained sitting on his knees. Erin looked at Morgan slowly, his impossibly wide eyes growing wider as he looked at his face. He could feel dried blood on his chin and his cheeks, the caking stickiness irritating his skin. He hastily scrubbed at his chin. But the damage had already been done.

 

    “What happened…?” Erin asked, his voice surprisingly stern.

  Morgan stumbled over the words. How could he tell his younger brother he was a vampire, and a _Vorvintti,_ no less— their greatest enemies? How could he say he had attacked— and nearly _killed_ — their nanny? He couldn’t. The words choked and died in his throat. To his surprise, Erin prodded him further when he didn’t immediately respond, his little child’s voice growing anxious.

    “ _Morgan…!_ What _happened_ here?! _Why won’t you say anything?!_ ” Erin grew impatient, angry at Morgan’s silence.

  He was just about to respond when a sudden burst of light entered the bedroom. Bright, orange light filtered in through the windows, the sun finally having escaped the lower buildings of the city.

  It was painful.

He had thought the reddish glow of the morning light was bright— this was a star-burst against his eyes; an explosion burning away at his pupils. He felt his eyes sting suddenly, quickly, before he turned away from the light, scrunching his eyes closed and holding his arms across his head as he felt himself involuntarily hiss between his teeth. It was after several moments that the onslaught of light had lessened, and that he realised Erin had crossed the room and had pulled the curtains across the windows. He slowly lowered his arms and opened his eyes, blinking them hastily at the sudden change in light. The room wasn’t by any means dark; he could clearly see, in the smallest definition, every detail in the room just as easily as before. Pinkish-red light filtered in from the curtains, an identical red to the carpet below him.

  It was natural, then, that he was quite clearly able to see Erin’s pale face in the darkness.

 

  He was staring right at Morgan’s own face, his large jade eyes boring into Morgan’s.

    “Y-your eyes…” He managed to stammer.

  Morgan reached up to touch his cheeks, then dropped his hand quickly. It wasn’t like he could feel his own eyes.

    “Erin- Erin what’s wrong with my… eyes?”

    “When the light came they… they went all small and scary, like a cat’s- and they were so- so… _red._ ”

  It took Morgan a moment to realise Erin was talking about his pupils—not the actual eye.

    “…And what about now?”

  Erin had to squint a little in the darkness. It surprised Morgan; was it really that dark?

    “They’re normal, I guess.”

    “You… guess?”

    “I don’t know, they still look a little… red to me.”

  Before Erin could say another word, Morgan was on his feet, already across the room and to his bathroom in a matter of seconds.

  The fluidity of his movements; the ease with which his will translated to instantaneous action; how he was able to be in motion, yet still see and observe every detail in the room… frankly it frightened him.

 

  He shook it off quickly.

    _No time for an existential crisis._

Instead, he walked into the black-marbled bathroom, not bothering to turn the light on, and stared into the mirror.

  For the briefest of moments, Morgan had the ridiculous idea that he wouldn’t be able to see himself in the mirror. He was wrong of course; _Vorvintti_ vampires, unlike some other vampire species, _could_ be seen in mirrors and go out in sunlight.

  But in a way he wished he couldn’t see himself.

He could _just_ pass as being himself, he decided. If no-one knew what he was, they wouldn’t think of him any different. He had the same dark halo of black hair, but the olive tone he had had to his skin had lessened and paled unsurprisingly, the same as his hands. Also like his hands were the dark veins that fringed the edges of his cheeks and temples, and crossed along his pale eyelids like fractures. But what he thought really gave away his true nature, were the eyes themselves.

  Behind his glasses— how ridiculous, a _vampire_ that needed _glasses_ — his wine-coloured eyes were the same as ever, if only slightly more luminous and clear, fringed by thick black lashes. As he’d expected, it was the pupils that stood out. They weren’t black, exactly, but a ruby-red only slightly brighter than the iris around it. It was only a slight difference, but it was enough.

    “I-it was brighter before.”

  His brother’s voice stammered from the doorway. “Here.”

  Before Morgan could stop him, he’d flicked the light switch to the right of the door.

As light flooded the room, Morgan resisted the urge— with difficulty— to scrunch his eyes closed and hiss at the light. Instead, he carefully looked into the mirror, a familiar sting burning his eyes.

  Erin hadn’t been lying; the pupil had quickly grown smaller and thinner, resembling more the eyes of a cat— no, a _shark—_ than a human’s. Colour flooded in, and the pupil glimmered with red that seemed to glow from within. Morgan stared in wonder at the alien eyes looking back at him. After several moments, the eyes appeared to slowly return to normal, if only a little redder, and a little thinner, than before.

    “That is _so_ weird—” He began, then stopped. A glint of white light had caught his eye. Opening his mouth, he stared in wonder at the bone-white tip of his incisors— longer and sharper than any human’s. They felt somehow uncomfortable when they were retracted like that, cramped inside his gums, but he dismissed the feeling just as quickly as Erin gave a little gasp beside him.

 

    _Shit._

_I didn’t fucking tell him…!_

  He turned to Erin, his hands up, his voice desperate. “D-Don’t freak out, okay? Listen—”

    “ _Y-Y-Y—_ ”

    “Erin—”

    “ _AAAAAAAHHHHHHH…_!”

 

  Erin ran.

Morgan had never seen his brother move so fast, or in such a panic. He bolted from the room, at top speed, slipping on the marble tiles before reaching the carpet and sprinting off.

  Morgan couldn’t help himself.

An insane, primal urge took over as he saw the last of the Spider-Man PJ’s leave the room. One moment he was staring after his brother in disbelief, the next he was sprinting after him, his actions overridden by an impossible-to-ignore impulse.

    “— _AAAAAHHHHH…!_ ” Erin screamed as he ran.

  Morgan had nearly caught him; there was no way Erin could even _begin_ to compete with his new speed. A flood of thoughts filled his head as he chased Erin:

    _What am I doing?_

_…He’s getting away!_

    Where _did he get those damn PJ’s?_

_Holy shit, is that a—_

  Morgan stopped dead. Quite literally; the moment he even _thought_ of stopping his body he was stationary. He stood stock-still, staring down the barrel of a gun poised at his forehead.

 

  Bronco held the gun tightly, staring down into Morgan’s eyes. He had his other hand wrapped around Erin, who was whimpering behind his back.

  His little brother.

  _Terrified_. Because of him.

    “…Morgan.” Bronco said, his voice rigid.

  Morgan blinked a few times, as though coming-to from a dream. His chest rose and fell heavily, bringing with it new scents and sensations every time, until he realised it was a reflex; he wasn’t actually gasping for breath at all. But the tangible taste of fear, anxiety and despair stuck to the back of his tongue. He was dimly aware of his surroundings; the three of them stood at the head of the red-carpeted stairs that lead down towards Erin’s floor.

    _He was trying to get to his room._

  The boiling energy in his body died down at the realisation. His mood soured, not that it was any good to begin with, as he casually knocked the gun away from his head.

    “It’s okay, Bronco. I didn’t mean— I didn’t mean it; I don’t know what came over me… Erin, I didn’t mean it, I swear.”

  Erin didn’t look at him. Instead, he ran down the stairs, tears streaming down his cheeks. Morgan heard the resounding slam of Erin’s bedroom door, before he sighed, more out of frustration than necessity.

    “ _Ugh…!_ ” He growled to no one in particular. Bronco put his gun away, seeming to decide Morgan had calmed down.

    “Are you going to tell me _why_ you were just chasing Erin?”

    “Honestly? I have no idea. It was just… on impulse, I guess. He ran when he saw these” —he vaguely waved at his lips— “and I dunno, I couldn’t stop myself; I just had to- to catch him. Like, how should I put this? Y’know when sharks smell b-blood, and their eyes go all black and they just lose control? It was kind of like that.”

  Bronco sighed, then sat down heavily on a bench near the staircase. “‘Fish are friends, not food.’”

  Morgan felt inclined to agree.

He blinked tiredly as a sudden fierce ache of exhaustion hit him like a freight train. That hit of super-adrenaline he’d had up until then suddenly fled his body, leaving him bone-tired and somewhat cold. He looked up at Bronco through heavy-lids. The minute details he was able to see before, when he’d awoken and tasted Riei’s blood, were becoming slightly more subdued. The deep, heavy heartbeats thrumming from Bronco’s chest up until then had dimmed somewhat to more background noise that didn’t really bother Morgan.

  His senses were failing him.

Morgan nodded his head tiredly, straining to stay awake. He was seriously considering conking out right then and there until a shivering prickle lanced down his spine.

  He shivered as a kind of tension flared away beneath his feet, like hearing a high-pitched drone from far-off. Then the thrum abruptly stopped. Without realising it, he was already on his feet.

 

    “Did you feel that?”

    “…Feel what?” Bronco replied, stifling a yawn. He looked about as tired as Morgan felt. Another thrum briefly flared at Morgan’s feet. He got a better feel for what it was; not so much tension, but more like a giant, raw pulse of energy, like electricity.

    “ _That,”_ he barked. A fresh wave of adrenaline raced along his veins, despite his eyes still feeling droopy, his limbs heavy as he moved. He thundered down the stairs, glanced at Erin’s door, then continued down the next flight.

 

  Morgan hit the bottom after practically jumping the last seven or eight steps, landing on the balls of his feet without even the slightest discomfort.

  As he’d taken the main staircase and not the emergency stairwell, he’d arrived at the west entrance to the main hall, near the elevators, meaning— thankfully— he didn’t have to go into the main hall at all. The thought of what might lie in there, and what it might do to _him,_ made him sick to his stomach. It was enough he could scent the thick, cloying salt of blood in the air from under the hall door.

 

  He’d descended the staircase as the last of the Akatsuki members had travelled through a portal on the opposite wall. The shimmering blue surface of the portal glimmered like liquid glass, glowing from within, before it cooled into a blackish crystal, like onyx, as the last of the members passed through. Morgan felt that same electric pulse of energy twist inside his stomach, only fainter, as the portal closed.

    _Oh._

 

   Bewilderment froze him to the spot as the electric thrum he could sense so clearly died with the portal.

  He was abruptly broken out of his astonishment by his father.


	10. A Nice, Father-to-Vampire Chat

 

    “…Morgan?!”

  Killian was both astonished at seeing his son, but also extremely angry.

After reeling from the _Vorvintti_ attack the night before, to having to organise a mass clean-up, as well as calling in the remaining members of the Yoake gang from Lyn City, to _finally_ having had the shocking revelation that not _only_ was his son a _Vorvintti_ vampire, but that he had nearly killed his nanny, Killian was lucky he could even stand at all. He hadn’t slept, having too much to do, and too little time to do it.

  Seeing Morgan standing at the bottom of the stairs, still dressed in the shirt he’d died in, covered in blood with a kind of look of amazement on his face, was the last straw.

 

    _“MORGAN…!”_ He said again, angrily this time. His voice echoed loudly in the entrance to the hall. To his surprise, Morgan visibly _flinched,_ like he’d been slapped.

    “…Dad?”

    “Don’t you ‘dad’ me.” Killian angrily stamped his way to stand in front of Morgan, staring him down. It didn’t really have the effect he wanted; Morgan was just too _damn_ tall, where did he get it from? Morgan was surprised, to say the least, his eyes wide as he stepped back until the heels of his feet hit the foot of the stairs. “ _Do you know what you did?”_

  He hadn’t meant it as a question, not really. But when Morgan didn’t respond, he got angrier. “Riei is in the _hospital_ because of you…! She’s in critical condition, because of _you,_ Morgan.”

  Morgan visibly grew very still, his face somehow managing to grow paler. Killian suppressed a shudder as those frightening red pupils of his grew small in his face. Without his meaning to, the memories of having walked in on Morgan feeding from Riei surfaced to the front of his mind— Morgan lapping at the blood at her throat like a dog, his fangs long and inhuman between his red lips. How he’d _growled_ at him, at his own father, like he hadn’t recognised him. His eyes— his red, demonic eyes, like two oval disks of ruby light that had swallowed the wine-red of his eyes whole, like a shark finding its prey…

  Killian forced the memories desperately down, as far as he could.

 _This boy standing in front of me now is_ nothing _like that beast._

    “I-I know... I didn’t mean—I didn’t mean it, I swear, dad. Something just- just snapped. I was so- so thirsty,” and here he brought his hand up and cupped his throat absentmindedly, “and she was right _there…_ Next thing I knew, Bronco shot a bullet through my leg, Riei’s on the floor, and her bloods in my mouth.” His accent slipping, Morgan stared off into space, his eyes glazed and heavy-lidded. It shocked Killian to realise that Morgan was extremely exhausted, just barely able to stand on two feet.

 

Killian sighed.

The damage had been done; there wasn’t much he could do now that Morgan had been turned.

He just had to make the best of a shitty situation.

  “Well… There isn’t anything we can do now. She’s in critical condition, but she’ll live. Just… don’t do it again.”

  Morgan nodded slowly. Killian knew what was on his mind.

 

  Morgan might not have killed Riei, but a vampire’s hunger wasn’t something you could just put in the back of your mind and forget.

  Be it in a few hours, or a few days, Morgan would need to feed again.

 

    “Why don’t you go rest, son?” Killian suggested, his voice softening. “You look dead on your feet.”

Too late Killian regretted it the moment he said it. His son was, quite literally, dead on his feet already. Killian glanced down, gritting his teeth as a sudden rush of sadness washed over him. As if sensing his mood, Morgan’s eyes widened, then, to Killian’s surprise, he began to laugh softly.

    “Ha ha, it’s okay dad,” he thumped his chest with a tired fist. “Heart’s still beating, strong and steady. I’m not undead yet.”

  Killian couldn’t help himself; something as small and insignificant as his son’s heart still beating, despite all the other changes, was enough to kindle just the smallest bit of hope in his heart.

 

  _Maybe, just maybe, Eriko, our son will be okay._


	11. A Vampire Quikee-Mart?

 

  After barely making it up the stairs and falling into his bed, Morgan had fallen asleep instantly, and had slept like the dead despite the harsh sunlight filtering in through the curtains. He’d woken up just as the sun had set; still dressed in the red, blood-encrusted dress shirt and trousers he’d worn the day before. The scent was distracting; it might have been his own blood, but it was blood nonetheless.

He rolled out of bed, his body already up and alert, as though he hadn’t been sleeping at all, and padded his way to the bathroom. The room was eerily silent, his slow heartbeat the only thing filling the space. He could barely hear his own footsteps across the carpet. Shrugging off the silence, he stripped down, holding the soiled remnants of his suit between his thumb and forefinger like it was hazardous and tossing it in a corner of the bathroom. He’d have someone take care of it later. Careful to avoid looking at the foreign creature in the mirror, he took off his glasses, and turned the sleek silver taps.

Morgan found, after a while, that the shower water wasn’t hot enough at its usual setting; he had to keep increasing the heat until the cold tap was nearly completely shut off. He navigated the shower by habit; he’d gotten used to from a young age not being able to completely see whilst in the shower.

  _What a jib,_ Morgan thought. _A vampire that fucking needs glasses. Where’s my receipt?_

“…And _I’m_ saying we don’t have enough...!”

As Morgan stepped down the carpeted stairs, wringing his wet hair with a towel, Bronco and another Akatsuki member seemed to be having a heated discussion over the gang’s remaining supplies.

  “We don’t have enough people, Makko. Plus it’s too dangerous to leave the base at the moment, y’know, with Toronto out there…”

 

  “Toronto?” Morgan interrupted. He’d figured after stealing the Chrysalis from right under their noses, and after coming down hard on the Akatsuki base along with the _Vorvintti_ , Toronto would’ve backed down.

    … _Can’t catch a break,_ he thought. “What’re Toronto doing _now?_ ” he asked.

  Bronco and the other Akatsuki member, Makko—a lanky young man with a mop of straw-coloured hair and flat black eyes that darted everywhere but directly at Morgan—turned quickly, startled out of their discussion.

    “O-Oh! Morgan...! Didn’t hear you show up…”

  Makko dipped his head slightly in greeting, as he began to wring his hands together. Morgan noticed the increasing flutter of the man’s heartbeat, as well as the sudden sheen of sweat that coated his cheeks.

Was he… afraid of him?

 

  “Yeah… sorry about that, couldn’t help it. I’ll try to be louder next time. What’s the problem? Can I help with anything…?” Makko spluttered, tripping over his tongue in response. Morgan ignored this and turned to Bronco, his eyebrows raised as he waited for an answer.

  “…Um, it’s the Portal. We’re running low on photon juice, but we don’t have the kind of man power to just rush out and grab some more. Without the Portal up and running though, it’d be harder to go further out in the city, what with Toronto’s territory increasing—”

  “‘Increasing’?”

Bronco looked down and clasped his hands together, like he was afraid to answer. “…Toronto… since the raid, they’ve attacked one of our bases… And we think they’re planning to attack more.”

   “Fuck.”

A sudden burst of anger welled in his stomach, flaring up into his throat and into his mouth, ending at a sudden ache within his jaw. It wasn’t the same as the hunger, it was somehow different.

More aggressive. Territorial.

  “Those fucking assholes..! Who do they think they’re fucking with..?”

  “…Morgan, there isn’t much we can do at the moment. We’re just too weak. They hit us pretty hard, y’know. There isn’t anything we can do… for now.”

  Bronco reached up to place his arm on Morgan’s shoulder, than decided against it half-way, leaving it to dangle awkwardly at his side. Morgan sighed. Even someone like Bronco, this rough gangster who he’d known most his life, was afraid of him.

He had to prove them wrong; show them he wasn’t a monster.

 

  “…Fine. You’re right, man. I’ll get the juice, just tell me where to find it.”

 

***

 

  Jotai City was a massive, circular ‘village’, hundreds of kilometres across, encircled on all sides by a high, fortified wall with only four exits at its cardinal points. It was one of three cities located in the world Mid-Guard: Jotai, Lyn, and Marlo, each separated by several kilometres of vast desert and wild-lands, filled with demons and monsters of all kinds that strained to get into the three densely-populated cities. Jotai City was the first and largest, a massive metropolis built up from a mixture of the arcane and the technological—a world-between-worlds that first acted as a kind of pit-stop for travellers but eventually became a famous tourist stop of its own. There were streets in Jotai, both concrete and dirt, but hardly any cars were used—or permitted use—throughout the city; the closer to the middle of the city you got, the more common the use of Portals and teleporters became.

 

  Morgan stepped out of one such Portal pad, the odd sensation of changing gravitational orientation making his head spin. He was used to it, though; any resident of Jotai City had to be, if they wanted to get around.

He glanced around with his new vampire-eyes, still amazed at the details he saw, and had never noticed before. His eyesight wasn’t as good as it was yesterday, after he’d drunken Riei’s blood, but it wasn’t something to sniff at, either. He found himself in a bustling street, lined with high skyscrapers and buildings, screens and signs advertising a whole array of different things in a distracting myriad of colours and sounds. He nearly stumbled as he walked, taking it all in; a route he’d travelled hundreds of times before, but never like this. Portal and teleporter-pads flared briefly at every turn as people moved about their daily lives, the now-familiar _thrum_ of energy clenching at Morgan’s insides. He figured if he wasn’t careful, the sensation might just actually make him sick.

Morgan hurried along, taking out a slip of paper with the juice shop’s address on it.

 

 

 

  “Thanks, man.”

Morgan gingerly carried the cardboard box from the store, the still-surprising tinkle of the door’s bell tickling his ears.

It never ceased to amaze him that, despite Jotai being a particularly technologically advanced city, it never took bias against people that preferred the traditional and the arcane; Jotai wasn’t picky when it came to its residents, so why should it be picky about what way of life they chose?

He glanced inside to make sure the jars were safe, tucked securely in their foam. Photon juice looked like liquid-crystal, a strange kind of blue jelly-like water that glowed with an ethereal light, and was used to power certain Portals within Jotai. It was actually an old form of teleportation; not many people could afford to get their hands on the juice to power their Portals, and newer, more fuel-efficient teleportation methods had been invented since they were first introduced to Jotai City.

  Morgan shrugged. Not that it was any of his business what his father preferred to use. Portals _were_ pricey, but they were also elegant, and to Morgan, frankly they were just really cool. That and they were also an important status-symbol. Whoever could afford to run a classic Portal from their own home meant business.

He shuffled through the bustling crowd, careful of the box and jars. He needn’t have worried; the box felt like barely a pillow in his arms, and he clearly felt and heard the weight and sound of the jars, and was easily able to adjust the box accordingly so that they didn’t fall. It was also impossible for him to bump into anyone; he could hear, smell, see and sense them ages before they even came near him.

Morgan was reluctant to go home; he wanted to see more with his new eyes. He took a longer, roundabout route toward the Portal that’d take him home.

 

He nearly considered taking the subway, just to take a longer way home, when a scent caught his nose.

Morgan stopped abruptly in the middle of the footpath, much to the annoyance of passing pedestrians. There was no mistake.

The smell was blood.

Turning his head, he closed his eyes as he let the air waft over his nose, heavy with the salty smell. He started walking, his body moving before he could decide to stop it. The smell appeared to be coming from an undercover strip of shops, hidden away in a dark and deserted alleyway. Shrugging, Morgan followed the scent, more out of curiosity than concern that someone may have been in danger.   He had been lucky the juice store was even open at the late hour; all the shops along the alleyway were closed and dark.

Except one.

Just one shop blazed light against the inky-blackness of the alley, a small convenience store with a large lit board that read ‘Night-Mart’. Glancing left and right, Morgan realised the bloody smell was coming from here. The sign hanging in the glass door said ‘open’, and there were already occupants inside browsing the shelves. He shouldered the door open, careful not to knock the cardboard box, and stepped inside.

 

The bloody smell was definitely coming from here. It was so strong Morgan had to resist coughing, his eyes squinting against the onslaught. To his left sat a girl, probably only a couple years younger than him, at a white counter, reading a graphic novel. She was pretty, he realised, in a kind of ordinary-way.

She had red hair the colour of rubies—probably not natural—that made a curly halo around her shoulders, and was wearing a jumper several sizes too large for her. She looked up at him briefly, stormy-grey eyes bored, before she glanced back down to continue her manga. Morgan shrugged, momentarily startled by the contrast her eyes made with her chocolate skin, before placing the juice-box on the ground beside the door so his hands were free and going to browse the shelves.

 

The store didn’t look so big from the outside. Along the right wall against the glass store-front, were several shelves filled with various food products. Across the middle of the floor, were more shelves stocked with similar wares, and finally, ranged along the entire left and back wall, were freezers. Morgan moved along the right-most wall first, just to get a good idea at what the ‘Night-Mart’ sold.

 

_What the hell…?_

He picked up the nearest bag that said in bold letters, ‘Tofu Fingers! Just Like the Real Thing!’ Underneath the letters were depicted severed human fingers, the bone and muscle visible, surrounded by bright yellow stars. Morgan hastily scrambled to put the packet back on its shelf.

  _Just what the hell is going on here…?_

Glancing at the other products, Morgan realised with a start that most of the store had a similar theme: ‘Jelly Eye-Balls! Filled with REAL synthetic Juice!’… ‘Dried Human Tongue! Now with Extra Seasoning!’… ‘Blood Capsules! Scare the Pants of your Friends! Now Filled With REAL Blood!’ and so on.

He nearly raced out of the store right then and there, when a couple of voices behind him shocked him out of his confusion.

 

  “…Okay now _that’s_ just ridiculous. ‘Blood-jam donuts’? Who comes up with this stuff?”

 

The voice was decidedly foreign; not many people in Jotai City had English accents, and when they did, they were usually passing tourists. Another voice joined the first, this one more gentle, with the same foreign accent.

 

  “…If you don’t like, don’t buy it.”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

  “But you’re not going to buy it?”

  “…Nah. Those lollipops up front look good though. Zen said they were nice.”

  “Fine. Can we just hurry? It’s like… two am at home.” The gentler voice stifled a yawn, and the voice’s source came walking from behind the shelf.

 

Two boys, both probably close to Morgan’s age, came tiredly bustling out from the shelves. They both seemed to be dressed in black, private-school uniforms. The shorter of the two had black hair and pale-white skin, whilst the taller one— _really_ taller one; he was probably taller than Morgan—had brown hair and tanned skin, with little earrings glinting at his ears.

Morgan stiffened instantly.

Something wasn’t right about these two.

 

The taller one seemed to have similar thoughts; he turned around quickly, green eyes finding Morgan’s sharply. The two stared each other down, neither looking away.

That similar intense territorial feeling from before came crashing back, his fangs slipping from his gums before he could stop them. The hairs on the back of his neck rose, his muscles beginning to tense. Morgan’s heartbeat, up to that point slow and steady, began to quicken; strong, heavy beats pumping blood through his body, making his head spin. A sting at his eyes told him the pupils had narrowed into slits, the world once again sharpening into focus.

The tall guy appeared to have a similar reaction; he clenched his fists at his sides, his eyes narrowing as he pulled his lips back over ordinary, human teeth. But the teeth were the least of Morgan’s concerns.

He couldn’t explain how, but Morgan could _sense_ this guy’s power; it was raw and angry, similar to his own, but more… savage. Wild.

 

  “…Are you two just going to stare at each other all day, or..?”

 

The shorter one with the black hair looked annoyed; his blue-eyes—severe dark circles marring an otherwise handsome face—creased with irritation. Morgan dimly noted that both boys seemed to have Asian features, despite their accents.

 

  “Get back.” Morgan would’ve found it funny if he wasn’t so pumped with adrenaline; the taller of the two was the one with the gentle voice. “Don’t you feel it?”

The shorter one sighed. “…Feel what, Tatsuya?”

  “This guy… He’s a monster.” the tall one, Tatsuya, growled.

_You’re one to talk. Look at the size of you!_

Tatsuya wasn’t just taller than Morgan; he was ridiculously more muscular, as well. If he wasn’t a vampire, Morgan didn’t think he’d have been able to take him on. As it was, he didn’t think this Tatsuya guy was entirely human, either. He smelled… wrong. Different.

Morgan wasn’t going to let that ‘monster’ comment slide easily.

  “ _I’m_ the monster? Dude have you _seen_ the size of you?! Compared to you, I’m a fucking lamb.” It was getting increasingly more difficult to speak; his fangs weren’t backing down, either, refusing to shrink back into his gums. Adrenaline and an odd flare of anger were fuelling his actions—he couldn’t stop himself. He was _itching_ to take this guy down a notch.

  “Are you serious? I didn’t ask for this, you fucking monster—”

  “Tatsu, calm down—”

  “Shut up, Teru. You just don’t feel it, don’t _understand._ This fucker kills people—”

  “What the fuck man, no I don’t! Okay, maybe sometimes, but that’s part of the job—”

  “I’m going to _fucking kill you…!_ ” Tatsuya burst forward, moving faster than Morgan would’ve thought possible given his massive height and muscle. But not fast enough.

Morgan dodged his tackle, swiftly stepping around until he was behind the taller boy. Tatsuya turned around quickly, breathing heavily through flared nostrils.

 

  “Okay, if you’re going to fight, could you please do it outside of my store…”

 

The bored store-clerk from before spoke up, her voice now both bored _and_ annoyed. She hadn’t even glanced up from her manga. Tatsuya’s eyes were narrowed. The guy was _seriously_ pissed-off. He raced forward again.

In the split-second before Tatsuya could tackle him, Morgan realised two things. 1) This guy was in the same boat as he was; fuelled by some kind of supernatural, irrational anger, but he seemed to be under a lot more influence and 2) if he let Tatsuya come any closer, he’d probably accidently tackle the counter and clerk-girl over, as well. His mind raced at a million miles a second, faster than any human would’ve been able to. He came to one conclusion. One, _very shitty_ conclusion. Morgan couldn’t tackle the guy himself; that’d be too messy. He couldn’t throw him, either. Which left just one option.

Preying to whatever vampire gods—if there were any—that were listening, Morgan tensed his leg, willing with all his might as much power into it as he could.

 

With a cry, he kicked Tatsuya in the stomach, sending him crashing through the glass store-door, and into the alley beyond.


	12. I Get Some New Contacts

    “Aww, man c’mon. Was that really necessary?”

 

Store-clerk girl wasn’t impressed, but she didn’t seem absolutely distraught, either.

  “Send me the bill.” Morgan grinned. He gave her a wink before stepping out of the remains of the doorframe, followed close behind by the shorter guy, Teru. 

  “I am _so_ sorry.” Teru said. He didn’t sound all that sorry though, just terribly annoyed. “He isn’t usually like this… Usually…” Teru looked thoughtful. This kind of thing probably happened often.

 

Morgan, to his better judgement, was thoroughly enjoying himself.

Since waking up, he hadn’t had the opportunity to test his new vampire strength. What better way than against an angry, British, Captain America?

Tatsuya was laying on his back in the middle of the wide alleyway, probably in shock, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

  “Hey, big guy. You still breathing?” A dumb question, but Morgan said it on purpose. Tatsuya’s ragged breathing filled the alley, the loud, massive thumps of his heart echoed in Morgan’s ears.

All he got in return was an angry, frustrated growl. Tatsuya sat up, getting to his feet angrily, rubbing his abdomen.

  “You kicked me through a _FUCKING GLASS DOOR…!”_ He raced forward, this time much faster than before in the cramped space of the convenience store. There was no mistake; this guy was definitely _not_ human. Morgan didn’t even have time to react.

A massive fist came flying into his face, this time sending _him_ flying. Morgan landed a few metres away, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

His face.

Oh my god, the pain. It was like someone had slammed his face into a bowl filled with shards of glass. Which was basically what had happened.

 

Now it was Morgan’s turn to be pissed.

He got to his feet quickly; his body fit to bursting with angry energy. With slightly shaking fingers, he reached up, tentatively touching his cheeks and eyes. Glass shards and the remnants of metal frames had embedded themselves in his skin and muscle, some even in his eyes.

    _“Who the fuck punches a guy wearing glasses in the face…?!”_ He pulled a particularly long shard of glass from his eyeball, wincing at the awful stinging. The relief was instantaneous. Other pieces fell out on their own, his aggressive healing-rate saving him doing all the work himself. Morgan threw the remnants of his frames away, swaying slightly.

 

This fucker was going to pay.

 

Morgan doubled over suddenly as a flare of pain erupted across his stomach. His fangs, already descended before, fully-elongated, straining brutally against his gums as saliva welled thickly in his mouth.

Within moments, he was gone; the hunger and the loud _thump thump_ of Tatsuya’s heartbeat the only thing in his ears.

Morgan exploded into movement, racing forward and tackling Tatsuya to the ground faster than he could’ve reacted. Within milliseconds Morgan’s mouth was at his muscular neck, his fangs piercing the flesh, sending a spray of hot, thick blood across his tongue. Morgan drank it up greedily, the aching in his stomach lessening by a fraction with each gulp.

 

Then Tatsuya bucked underneath him.

 

A flare of instinct told Morgan to move, just a split second before Tatsuya _exploded._

Morgan landed a few metres away, the rush of animal adrenaline and mindlessness slowly draining from his system as the blood coursed its way through his veins.

 

Morgan could only stare in horror.

Through the blurriness, he could see the dark— _really_ dark shape of Tatsuya explode outward by the second, the horrible screech of tearing fabric filling Morgan’s ears.  The hulking shape continued to grow, dropping to what Morgan assumed to be its hands and knees once it appeared to have difficulty standing on two legs.

After several moments, Morgan could no longer sense the boy from before.

In his place, Morgan could only smell an animal, the cloying scent of fur and blood wafting through the air. The sounds of heavy breathing, definitely of a ridiculously large beast, filled his ears, as well as a low, tremendous growling, laced with the steady dribble of saliva onto concrete.

 

He couldn’t see well at all, but what now stood before Morgan was an impossibly large wolf.

  “Holy fuck.” Was all Morgan could say.

  “For fuck’s sake.” Teru growled angrily beside him.

 

The wolf pounced.

 

The _clack_ of claws slashed across the ground as the beast exploded forward in a mass of muscle and fur, a growl erupting from deep within its throat and reverberating inside the deserted alleyway as its jaws gaped open. Morgan didn’t even have time to dodge.

As the wolf’s impossibly massive jaws moved to clamp around Morgan’s torso, Morgan mustered as much power as he could into his arms and legs, tensing and gripping the beast’s jaws in his hands and holding them apart. It wouldn’t work for long, however; the immense strength the wolf exerted threatened to shatter his arms. Concentrating hard—should he fuck this up, he’d _literally_ be torn in _half—_ he put out a final burst of strength within his arms, giving him just enough leeway room to quickly push up from the ground. Morgan flipped backwards in mid-air, away from the dangerous jaws of the beast, landing in a crouch a few metres away as the jaws clashed together in an audible _snap!_

 

 

At this point, Morgan was fighting with a severe disadvantage.

All he could see was the hulking shadow of the wolf, everything just a mass of shapes and blurs. A myriad of scents were cloying his nostrils, making it difficult to concentrate—and, most importantly, a sharp ache had begun to blossom in the pit of his stomach.

It definitely wasn’t hunger; that had a far more palpable effect on his body. Hunger affected _everything,_ from the tension in his legs, to the ache in his jaw. This, though, was just a nauseating bubble of needles within his stomach, like he was ill.

Morgan shook it off, clutching his stomach briefly. He didn’t have time to be worried about it.

 

There was a tonne of fur coming for his ass.

 

Tatsuya circled him slowly, a low growl permeating the air all the while his heavy claws clicked against the concrete.

He had a split second of warning as Tatsuya’s muscles tensed, before the wolf pounced once again.

 

For a brief second, Morgan panicked.

His body wasn’t reacting the way it should; he could feel the lack of control in the split second before he barely managed to roll out of the way. The wolf thundered past without pausing, then stopped with a horrendous screech of claws against concrete. Morgan tried to straighten from his crouch, then found his body wasn’t obeying him. It was like trying to hold on to an eel; his muscles simply weren’t doing what they were told. Morgan fell to his knees on rubbery legs, a fierce fit of shaking beginning to rack his frame.

      “W-what the f-fuck…?” he managed to stammer through chattering teeth.

  The wolf didn’t seem fazed by Morgan’s collapse, instead still stalking, a low growl issuing from his throat. At this point, Morgan couldn’t move; he was completely immobilised by the intense shaking of his body, and the growing nausea in his stomach.

A roiling heat leaped up into his throat; not hunger, but something worse. With a lurch, Morgan retched against the concrete. A red spray erupted between his lips, fountaining against the concrete in vivid crimson. He coughed, spluttering, as the spray continued without pause, his body convulsing with each lurch. He tried to stop it, but his body wasn’t satisfied until his stomach was emptied entirely. Falling to his hands and knees, he could only shudder until his stomach stopped heaving. Eventually, in what felt like hours to Morgan, the heaving stopped, only a slow dribble of blood dripping from his chin. His body was incredibly weak; it was all he could do to kneel, let alone get up; his legs about as strong as jelly.

But he wasn’t safe just yet, he realised.

Tatsuya still stood a few metres away, his sneering jaws open slightly as a steady dribble of saliva dripped on the concrete. Morgan tried to muster the energy to stand, only to fall to his knees again.

  The wolf stepped closer.

With a frustrated cry, Morgan attempted to stand once more, his legs once again giving way as the strength failed him.

  Tatsuya stepped closer still.

 

    “What do you fucking… want from me?” Morgan managed to stammer. His bravado had completely deserted him; an intense exhaustion taking its place. The wolf growled.

 

    “So… I called the _Supernatural Patrol_ … so if y’all could cut that shit out, that’d be great.”

Clerk-girl stood in the ruined doorframe of the Night-Mart, her arms crossed with a Glass— a kind of smartphone that only comprised of a single piece of glass—flashing red after a finished call. “And someone needs to pay for this door…”

  No one moved.

    “Oh no, don’t all volunteer at once, it’s cool.”

    “I-I’ll pay for it.” Morgan managed to stammer. He couldn’t see the Clerk-Girl, but he tried to at least look in her general direction. He was too exhausted to make out much, though. Teru turned to the hulking form of Tatsuya.

    “C’mon man, enough. Look at the poor guy, I think your blood did him in more than your bite.”

    _No shit,_ Morgan thought between heavy breaths. Tatsuya only responded with a wolfish whine, before he slowly stalked to Teru’s side. _He_ didn’t seem injured in the slightest.

 

  The sound of pounding boots suddenly reached Morgan’s ears.

Following that was the clacking of guns and loud shouts; the _Supernatural Patrol_ were here.

  Within seconds the alleyway—only moments ago deserted and silent— filled with purple-clad soldiers carrying a variety of firearms and stun weapons, their shouts muffled by their visors as they aimed their weapons at the three boys. The tiny army of soldiers made Morgan’s stomach churn; he’d had enough of soldiers to last him a while.

 The three boys assumed the position; on their knees, hands behind heads— at least, in Tatsuya’s case he knelt down and tucked his head as inconspicuously as he could being a one-tonne giant wolf. Morgan barely had the energy to do it; his vision dimming, blackness encroaching at the edges.

 

  It was as one of the soldiers were making their way toward him, gun aimed at his head, that Morgan passed out.


	13. This is Heavy, Doc

  Morgan awoke to a strange throng of noise.

Loud beeps and clicks; the whirring of machinery; a hundred voices accompanied by a million heartbeats… Just a cacophony of activity and life that pounded in his head. He let out a loud, long groan.

 

   “Are you in pain?”

  He fluttered his eyes open.

Morgan couldn’t see much; just a white space above his head, but he could tell someone was standing over him. He passed his hand over the stand beside him, instinctively reaching for his glasses, before letting it slowly drop as realisation kicked in. He let out another groan.

    “If you don’t tell me what’s hurting you, I can’t stop the pain Mr. Takashima.”

    “I’m not in pain.” He growled with frustration as he violently sat up. This would prove to be a mistake; his head pounded with blood, making him dizzy. Morgan clutched his forehead.

    “Mr. Takashima, I’d advise against— and you sat up anyway.” The voice, up until then cool, calm and clinical, grew slightly annoyed. Morgan didn’t respond, only letting the pounding in his head die-down before he trusted himself to move. After several moments, the pounding died down, his body finally relaxing into normalcy— at least, as normal as you could get being a vampire.

 

    “...Can I go?” Morgan asked as he finally glanced up at the blurry outline of the doctor. The doctor— a woman with black hair in a white coat— shook her head in disbelief, a small unamused laugh escaping her lips.

    “You most certainly can _not._ You just had a blood transfusion ten minutes ago, and to the best of my knowledge, you probably can’t even see out of your eyes.”

    “I _can_ see, thank you very much… With a little help, yeah. Look, I just need to call my dad, he’ll drop off my glasses, then I can go—”

    “Absolutely not.”

    “But—”

    “Doctor’s orders. You aren’t leaving this hospital until I say so, Mr. Takashima. And I say you need another blood transfusion before I even _consider_ releasing you.”

    “Okay, listen,” Morgan spread his hands in the air, frustrated. “You don’t— you don’t know, okay? I need to leave, like right now. I’ve got things I need to do, y’know? And I can tell you now being here isn’t gonna’ help me, alright?” He flung his hands in the air, words escaping him. There was no way he was telling this doctor he was _Vorvintti._ Mind compulsion was a vampire thing, wasn’t it? Wait— he couldn’t even _find_ her eyes, let alone figure out if _Vorvintti_ could do it.

 

    “Who do you take me for, Morgan?” Morgan flinched at the sound of his name. He wasn’t one to scare easily, but this doctor… She had a distinctly intimidating vibe surrounding her. “Of course I know _what_ you are; I’m a medical professional, give me some credit. I also know that a vampire on an empty stomach from food poisoning is a public safety hazard. So, as I’ve said, you aren’t leaving until I say so. Also the _Patrol_ wish to speak with you. Is that alright?”

  For a few seconds, Morgan was too stunned to speak. He coughed before answering, slightly embarrassed, despite himself, “I’m not feeling well enough yet, is that okay?” The doctor nodded slowly and visibly. A loose strand of hair fell forward across her hair, and she tucked it behind her ear with a small flick of annoyance before leaving the room on reasonably short heels, but not before Morgan saw a strip of purple and black at her wrist.

 

  A _TAPE._ And a _C_ -class at that.

 

  Jotai prides itself on being a very multi-cultural city, with species ranging from the dominant humans, to any obscure non-human left to the imagination. From elves to ghouls, angels to demons; all manner of lifeforms could be found contained within Jotai’s vast walls. But not all species are harmless or integrated into society— or can even help themselves. To these supernatural non-humans, the _TAPE_ system was created. Ranging on a scale of _SSS, A,_ all the way through to _F,_ with _SSS_ being practically a god and monitored at all times, and _F_ being practically harmless, the _TAPE_ system utilises a monitoring ‘band’—usually worn on the wrist—with coloured stripes depending on the class of the individual. The band monitors the individual’s life-signs; an elevated heartbeat, a certain amount of chemicals in the blood to monitor mood, damage or removal of the band and so on, could indicate something out of place, or a potential incident.

  It was practically impossible for a human to get a _TAPE_ rating, so despite her benign appearance, at least from what Morgan _could_ see, the doctor wasn’t human at all.

 

  It made him feel a little guilty to know he’d abuse the trust of a fellow non-human, but Morgan didn’t have the time to sit around in a hospital all day. Taking his Glass that had miraculously survived his encounter with the werewolf from his back pocket, he squinted his eyes and tried to find his dad’s number as best as he could.

 

 

***

 

  With a lot of stumbling, cursing, apologies and ducking behind cover from _Supernatural Patrol_ officers, Morgan finally made it to the back entrance of the hospital, where—thankfully— there was hardly any personnel or foot-traffic.

 

    “Oh thank _God._ ” Morgan exclaimed, relieved, as he caught site of Bronco leaning against a pillar nearby. “You got the goods?”

    “Don’t you know it.” Bronco joked tiredly, placing a black glasses case in Morgan’s hands. He took it gratefully, frantically opening the case and perching the new pair of glasses on his nose. The world finally sharpened into focus as Morgan blinked several times to adjust.

    “Man you are a life-saver! You are _so_ lucky you aren’t blind, man.”

  Bronco didn’t say anything, only forcing a chuckle. It was then Morgan realised the strained lines on Bronco’s face, the exhaustion clouding his eyes and the dire worry behind expression. “…What is it?” Morgan asked, a little apprehensive. Bronco sighed, slowly walking away from the back entrance of the hospital, indicating Morgan to follow with a small flick of his head.

    “It’s… it’s our safe houses. Toronto are really starting to… become a problem.”

    “Fuck.”

Bronco nodded. “That isn’t even the worst of it. We have no idea how they’re finding out where we are, and there’s no way for us to tell which house they’re gonna’ strike next… We’re lucky they’ve only gotten a couple so far…”

    “Fucking shit.”

    “But we have no way of stopping them. At this rate… who knows? Our supplies’ll dry up, our weapons caches will be gone… we’ll be totally vulnerable to another attack. And then what? I dunno how we made it the first time; we shouldn’t even be alive—”

    “Bronco, relax.” Morgan stopped him abruptly, his hand firmly on Bronco’s shoulder. He was seriously panicked; Morgan had never seen him so riled. Toronto were becoming a serious threat. “We’ll find them, I swear. I’ll _personally_ make sure I find out who’s leaking our locations, alright?” His voice softened as he pleaded with Bronco. Bronco only nodded slowly, uneasily; obviously not convinced. Morgan sighed. “Look, if they attack another one, I want you to tell me straight away, okay?”

    “But… but what can you do on your own, Morg?”

    “… I’ll take care of it. Trust me.”


	14. Can I Join the Avengers Yet?

****

_She was padding toward him slowly—no,_ stalking, _like a lion would stalk a gazelle, keeping the beast trapped within her depthless gaze; terrified but too mesmerised to look away. Indeed those fathomless ruby-red depths held him enraptured. She shifted then, like a ghost might suddenly be there, then disappear; she was feet away, then inches, then her mocha hands were caressing his thigh, her black ringlets of curls a dark halo swallowing him whole. The scene shifted suddenly, easily, naturally; now_ he _was the one stalking toward_ her, _his own gaze trapping hers, his own pale hand caressing her soft skin. A fiery heat, a grotesque tumour of desire grown out of control twisting deep within his stomach. A blaze scorched its way up its throat and into his mouth; the fires of Hell coaxing the fangs easily from his gums. Trapped in a terrible dance of indulgence and fear of the unknown, he took up the woman in his arms, now an unresponsive doll moving to his every whim, that once hypnotic gaze now nothing but empty glass._

_The hunger grew too strong to handle._

_He tore into her flesh—_

    “— _Morgan!”_

  Morgan leapt up from his bed, heart pumping, panting heavily. His sheets were tangled like a noose around his legs, sticky with his own sweat.

    _Huh,_ he thought. _I didn’t know vampires_ could _sweat._

Squinting through the harsh afternoon light— it was a miracle he was up this early at all— he all but glared at the figure standing over his bed. It was a woman, a demon, actually— with green slitted pupils, closely cropped ashen hair dressed in tight black military fatigues that didn’t restrict her movement, and a black demon’s tail wrapped around her waist. Her face was decidedly blank, almost stern, and most definitely cold as she glared down at Morgan.

    “W-wh—”

    “Killian asked me to wake you,” she began sternly, interrupting Morgan before he could manage anything coherent. “Told me you need to talk to your brother. Immediately. And that someone by the name of ‘Kaidyn’ has been calling the office non-stop asking for you.”

  Morgan couldn’t speak. He was far too stunned. From being woken from such a vivid dream— no, a nightmare Morgan decided, to being told this so early in the morning…

    “Is that all?” he asked, equally cold, having gotten his bearings a little better.

  The demon, to her credit, didn’t flinch. But her eyes did narrow, at the same time a small grin broke across her lips. The effect was altogether rather startling, and more chilling than her earlier demeanour.

    “Yes.”

  With that, she turned on her military booted-heel and left, leaving Morgan to ponder the strange meaning of her smile.

  And his brother.

  And his best friend.

 

  Twenty minutes later, and after some serious thinking, Morgan stood outside Erin’s bedroom door. He stood there for quite a while, pondering just what he’d say to Erin, as he listened to the distant flutter of his brother’s heart. That little flutter was an anchor, Morgan mused. An anchor keeping him sane. Human.

  He knocked on the door gently.

    “Erin…?” He asked out, a little more than a whisper, as he let himself in.

  Erin’s room was much like Morgan’s own; white furniture, white walls, maroon carpet, a balcony, seldom used, leading out onto the vast sprawling metropolis far below. However Erin’s room still held evidence of childhood; plush toys peppered his bed, toys littered the spaces around the corners of his room, posters of super heroes and anime protagonists pasted across the walls. Morgan found it unbelievably adorable.

  The room’s owner was sitting on his bed, cross-legged, a comic book held tightly to his chest between his fingers, this time wearing Hulk pyjamas. Erin was looking down at his feet, refusing to meet Morgan’s eyes, however the quickening of his little heart told Morgan he knew he was there.

    “Erin…” Morgan repeated.

  By way of answering, Erin slowly put the comic book he’d been reading in front of his tiny feet, in view for Morgan to see. It was a very old, very ridiculous comic simply titled ‘Dracula’, with a picture of said vampire holding his beloved and looking positively forlorn in a silly cape and suit.

    “I-Is it true…” Erin began to stammer. “Th-that you’re evil, and can’t go out in the day, and can turn into a bat, a-and can’t go out in the sun, and can’t eat Italian food anymore, and can’t die ever never, and-and need b-b-blood to live, and you k-k-kill—”

  Erin stopped abruptly as Morgan, by way of answer, stepped into the dying embers of the sun glittering through the open curtains opposite Erin. Morgan had a split second where he feared he might actually burst into flames, but of course, he’d been outside plenty of times already, and _Vorvintti_ were notorious for their lack of weakness to sunlight. The warmth tickled his back comfortably, leaving Morgan pleasantly warm, but yearning for more.

  Erin let out a little gasp of surprise.

    “Haven’t you seen me leave several times already…?”

Erin frowned. “…I haven’t gone outside. I don’t wanna’.”

Morgan nodded. “That’s okay. As long as you’ve been eating.”

It was Erin’s turn to nod. “Yeah, Grace comes to bring me food.”

    “Grace?” Morgan asked. He’d never heard the name before.

    “Yeah, scary demon lady. Short hair, black clothes, green eyes…? But she isn’t all that bad once you get to know her!” Erin suddenly went defensive at the dismissive frown Morgan gave him at learning the demon lady’s name. “She’s really nice under all the… the demoniness!”

  Morgan waved his hands at Erin, smiling as he relented. “Okay, okay; if you say so. Listen, Erin.” Erin sobered quickly as Morgan dipped his voice, his body growing apprehensive once again as his childish joy vanished. “I’m not— I’m not like Dracula, okay? I can go outside during the day, I don’t think I can turn into a bat, I think I can eat food…” At this thought Morgan stopped. He actually wasn’t entirely sure whether or not he could stomach food. Just the thought of putting something _solid_ in his mouth made him gag, let alone Italian food, and in the last couple days since being ‘discharged’ from the hospital he hadn’t been even remotely famished. “I don’t kill anyone,” at this Morgan inwardly winced at the white-lie, “and I won’t ever hurt you, ever never. You got that?”

  Erin nodded once, though his face betrayed his suspicion. Morgan sighed. “You’re my baby brother, okay? I wouldn’t lay a hand on you—”

    “You chased me! You had those red scary eyes, and you were chasing me!”

    “I-I um,” Morgan spluttered, at a loss. He really _was_ hunting his brother that time, but he was different now.

  Wasn’t he?

    “I was chasing those damn Spider-Man pj’s! You know I got it in for Pete. Can’t stand the guy!” Erin only frowned, first looking offended on Peter Parker’s behalf, then disbelieving.

    “You’ve never hated Spider-Man before… Don’t bullshit me Morgan.”

  When your younger brother drops a swear word, it was a good indicator that you had to be serious. Morgan sighed before answering, “Okay, I wasn’t… myself then. It was like I was just born again, Erin. I can’t really explain. It was like,” Morgan glanced around Erin’s room, at the array of superheroes and protagonists looking back at him, before his eyes finally rested on Erin’s pj’s. “It’s like, imagine I’m… I’m Bruce Banner, okay? I just got hit by that gamma radiation, and I’m Hulking out, right?”

  Erin actually nodded, a little bit of understanding easing his frown. Morgan eagerly continued. “Okay, I’m Hulking out, I’m unstable right? I can’t control myself, I just get… angry for no reason…?” He paused as Erin nodded some more. “Okay so I’m normal now, but I’m a little sensitive, okay? That’s all. I’m just an unfortunate guy, in a crappy situation, with superpowers.”

   “And you can turn all big and green.”

   “Yeah. Wait, no. I probably can’t do that. Probably…” Morgan chuckled, the first good laugh he’d had since he was turned, as he lightly ruffled Erin’s hair. Erin laughed too, his child’s voice filling the room and easing tension in Morgan he hadn’t even known he’d had.

    “But what about, y’know… Blood and stuff?”

  Morgan’s laughter abruptly broke off as he lapsed into silence. Like a hound at a bell, just being reminded of the stuff set off a sliver of fire up his throat. His lips felt suddenly too dry, his mouth papery and without saliva. With a start, Morgan realised he hadn’t properly eaten anything in several days. He hadn’t even noticed; he’d been so distracted by clean-up and everything else.

  Erin could probably sense the palpable difference in Morgan’s demeanour; he also stilled, as he whispered, slightly fearful, “Morgan…?”

  After it took so much effort to win his brother’s trust, Morgan didn’t want to shatter it against the rocks so easily. He ignored the pain, as best as he could— which was to say, not very well at all, as he replied with fake lightness in his voice, “I just don’t know, lil’ bro.

    “I just don’t know.”


	15. I Have the Coolest Friend, Seriously

****

  Deciding against staying home and blocking out the hunger, Morgan instead left the building, choosing instead to wander the streets of the 23rd precinct, where he lived.

  A rather large precinct, 23rd was notorious as being ‘run by the streets’; gangs were the law, the police just a cursory precaution. Predominantly inhabited by humans and humanoid creatures, it was cramped with a dense population and even denser streets. Despite this, though, it wasn’t exactly an inhospitable place. Gangs, police and citizens all lived together in a strange kind of peaceful coexistence; gangs weren’t exactly stigmatised as bad presences in Jotai and Lyn City. In fact, many were regarded as peacekeeping organisations that often worked _together_ with police.

  It was a strange world, Morgan thought.

  He walked down Thorn Street, a couple blocks away from his home, his hood drawn up close around his head. Night was beginning to fall across the city, the evocative time of dusk painting the city sky far ahead in pastels of blue and pink. It reminded Morgan briefly about the Chrysalis.

    _Would I still be able to touch it?_  He wondered. _Rafaella couldn’t touch it; she’s a progenitor and it’s a holy weapon after all. But that Roman asshole could touch it. What am I? If I ever came across it again and needed it, could I?_

_Would it hurt me?_

    _Why did she turn me?_

  Morgan’s mood soured sharply after that last thought. He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. Everyone undeniably, without a trace of doubt, said Rafaella didn’t sire. It was simple fact. So why did he exist?

  Why was he still alive?

He absentmindedly stroked his throat, the fire there flaring up at his touch. His subconscious had somehow lead him to a small, rather dismal park right in the middle of the city. Morgan sat on one of the swings, gently rocking to and fro as he thought.

    _She tore out my throat, for Empress’ sake. I shouldn’t be alive. But Bronco said she dripped some of her blood on me, then ta-da! I’m alive…! But I’m also a vampire! Yay!_ _I won the fucking lottery there!_

Morgan groaned loudly, swinging himself higher on the swing in his frustration.

  Rafaella did not sire.

 

    “Oh my god, who that is that dashing figure about to fall off a kid’s swing? Why, it’s Morgan Takashima! Prince to a gang, and friend-ignorer extraordinaire!”

  Morgan slammed his heels into the ground like hitting the brakes on a car. He hadn’t anticipated his vampiric strength though; a cascade of dirt and bark exploded from beneath his feet as he stopped abruptly.

    “Whoa there, Jesus! That could’ve gone in my mouth…”

  The source of the voice stepped closer into the light of the nearby lamp, an easy grin shining brighter than the lamp.

Kaidyn Fisher was extraordinary in that he seemed remarkably _ordinary._ But he was anything but. Average height, a little on the skinny side, with sandy blond waves of curls and warm brown eyes that always seemed on the verge of crinkling into a smile. To strangers he seemed like a tame, polite, somewhat withdrawn boy. But Morgan knew better.

  The two of them had gone to a private boy’s high school together. Morgan had seen every side of Kaidyn, including his biggest secret. A secret Morgan promised he’d take to the grave.

 

    “Kai…?” Morgan said stupidly. He was at a loss for words, a sensation Morgan realised was beginning to become all too common; weren’t vampires supposed to think fast?

    “The one and only.” Kaidyn sat the on the swing beside him and gently began to rock in time with Morgan. “I tried calling your phone. Wasn’t even lucky enough to get voicemail.” Morgan said nothing. At that very moment his phone was in pieces after Morgan misjudged his own strength the previous morning. He really was Hulking out.

    “Then I tried the ‘house’, but every time I called they said you were sleeping. At like four in the afternoon.” That also seemed believable; Morgan was beginning to discover he’d become nocturnal; it was impossible for him to stay awake in the morning and early afternoon; he was just an empty husk, dead on his feet during those times. But at night, oh. Oh at night, he felt _alive_ ; more alive than when he was human. He could feel the wired buzz beginning to electrify in his veins as the sun dipped lower and lower below the horizon.

    “And you never returned my calls.” Kaidyn concluded. Here he turned to Morgan directly, eyes probing. Morgan turned away, not meeting them. He had difficulty lying to Kaidyn, like he could somehow see past anything Morgan did. It would be impossible if he were directly looking at him. “I heard some serious shit went down at your place, Morg. Are you… are you okay?”

  He most definitely was _not_ okay.

  But he couldn’t say that.

    “I am great. Fantastic. Positively _peachy,_ Mr. Fisher.” He couldn’t help it, the sarcasm escaped before he’d meant it to. The hunger was slowly worming its way into his head, grating on his nerves. He regretted it instantly.

    “Morgan, don’t be a fucking dick. I know people died, and I know you guys were hit pretty hard. I want to help, I want to help _you—_ ”

    “How?!” Morgan growled through his teeth as he leapt from the swing. “What do you want me to say, Kai? Yeah we got fucked up big time, and it was my fucking fault? _I_ got people killed; _I_ fucked shit up for everybody?!” His voice rose unsteadily, his fangs sliding out between his gums as his accent slipped into Irish with every word. “That I’m paying for the fucking consequences even as we speak, and I’m _going to_ pay for them every day for the rest of my fucking life? For fucking eternity, who the fuck knows!”

  He was glaring at Kaidyn now, the full force of his anger directed entirely at him. In the back of his mind he knew he looked like a monster in that moment; fangs elongated, glowing red pupils slits. It wasn’t just his throat on fire anymore; _all_ of Morgan’s body felt hot and buzzing, like he was being electrified and burned all at once. But he didn’t care. A dam of angry, hungry energy had burst open.

  To his credit, Kaidyn didn’t move, didn’t even breathe. Morgan heard Kaidyn’s heartbeat in his ears, louder than it should’ve been; slow and steady, like the beat of a great beast, with not a twinge of fear to hasten it. Kaidyn’s face was blank at first, then his eyes widened as he took in Morgan’s own face and realisation dawned.

    _“What did they do to you?”_

 

  Such a small sentence, only six words, but it was enough. It was so much easier dealing with things when no one said them out loud; no one gave them tangible form. Kaidyn had done the unforgivable; he’d forced Morgan to face the true consequence of his actions.

  All too suddenly he was back in the swing, hot tears welling up in his eyes and down his cheeks. He couldn’t believe it. Like his father, ever since Eriko died, Morgan had cried and cried and cried until there was simply nothing left to cry out. Since then he hadn’t cried a drop.

  But there were undeniable tears burning tracks across his cheeks, making his stomach boil.

    “Jesus…!” was all Kaidyn said. “H-here I might have a tissue somewhere, Jesus. You need to get that checked out or something, shit…”

  Morgan had no idea what he was talking about. He was too exhausted; mentally rather than physically, but tired nonetheless.

    “What?” was all he could manage.

     “Blood man! You’re crying blood!”

  Morgan put his fingers to his cheeks slowly, as though he were in a dream. Sure enough, they came away spotted with red; not quite as thick as blood, but more like blood-tinged water. On a ridiculous, tired impulse, he licked his finger. A burst of delightful flavour across his tongue, then it was gone. His stomach growled in protest, demanding more. Kaidyn must’ve heard it, because he glanced at Morgan’s stomach, surprised.

    “Jesus, what— Morgan, please. _Please_ just tell me what happened—”

    “Vampires.”

  It was a loaded word, heavy with holophrastic meaning. And Kaidyn didn’t need anything else.

    “Oh.” was all he could manage in response.

  A few silent moments past, the distant ambience of the city humming behind them. The two continued to gently swing, Morgan sniffing and trying to wipe away his tears, Kaidyn staring deadpan at his knees.

    “Oh…” Kaidyn repeated. He turned to Morgan, puzzled, “Wait so you’re a…?”

  Morgan nodded without lifting his head.

    “Wow.” Kaidyn said. Morgan nodded again.

    “So the guys that trashed your place…? K— did your guys in, they were all vampires too?”

    “…No, just some. A handful actually, more like five. Just five people, Kai. And they tore us to pieces. Tore _me_ to pieces…” He rubbed his neck once again, a slight ache—more like a memory—blooming across his jaw where his throat was torn out. “We were powerless to stop them, man. I should’ve died too, y’know? But I didn’t. And that’s _my fault._ ”

    “I’m sure it wasn’t really all—”

    “No Kai; I really fucked shit up. _I_ pissed the vamps off; they came after us because of me. I took something from them, they wanted it back. And they didn’t stop at anything to get it.” He lapsed into silence, too battered by memory, guilt and exhaustion to say any more.

  Kaidyn nodded slowly, reading Morgan’s mood like a book. “So… why did they turn you? Was anyone else in Akatsuki turned?”

  Morgan silently thanked Kaidyn for the subject change. “No, it’s just me. It’s actually really strange; the— the person who turned me isn’t known to sire vampires. I don’t know what really went down; I was unconscious, but I was told she did it to bargain, or something like that. Then she took what she came for and split.”

  Kaidyn nodded again, clearly not really sure what to do with the information. “So… she turned you? Maybe she was into you or something…?”

    “I guess. She called me her ‘plaything’; even ‘claimed’ me, whatever that means.”

    “Huh. ‘Claimed’ you? Man, was she hot?”

  Morgan snorted through his nose. It was _so_ like Kaidyn to break the tension like this.

    “Fuckin’ gorgeous. But she _did_ tear out my throat with her teeth, so that kind of ruins the image.”

    “Oh? Damn, what a shame. Baggage, I guess.”

  The pair laughed then, tiredly. Morgan was grateful.

    “Thanks, Kai. And I’m sorry I haven’t called. I haven’t been… myself.”

     “It’s fine man, no biggie.” Kaidyn flashed him one of his eighty-watt smiles.

 

  It was at that exact moment, when Morgan was just beginning to feel slightly at ease, that Grace chose to burst out of the shadows of the trees.


	16. Not Very "A-Peeling"

****

    “I’m coming with.”

 

  Morgan whirled on his friend, eyes narrowed. “No you are _not_. C’mon, Grace.” He leapt off the swing, pointedly leaving Kaidyn behind.

    “ _Tsk,_ Morg! You know as well as anyone I could help!” Kaidyn followed as Morgan trudged quickly ahead without turning around. “Don’t be stubborn—”

    “I’m not being stubborn, Kai. I’m making sure you don’t fuckin’ die. This is dangerous shit. It isn’t for someone normal like you.”

  Kaidyn stopped abruptly. “ _Normal?!_ You think I’m normal?”

    “Yes.” Morgan answered without hesitation before continuing on.

    “Look, I’m flattered and all, but I’m coming with and you can’t stop me.”

  Morgan seriously doubted that. It was no doubt that when they were younger Kaidyn could kick the shit out of him and then some, but things were much different now. He was confident if it came down to a fight, he could take Kaidyn on single-handedly. And then some.

    _Wait. I shouldn’t be thinking like that. We’re friends. He has my best interest at heart, really._

  Sighing, he turned back. “Fine.”

Grace turned around as well, her stoic face briefly broken by disbelief, before she schooled her features into a blank expression.

    “Fine. But don’t get in anyone’s way. And for fuck’s sake, _don’t get hurt._ ”

  Kaidyn grinned, fifty watts this time.

    “You can count on me.”

 

***

   

 

 

 

 

    “I tried calling you as soon as I heard, but I got nothing.”

    “Yeah I accidently smashed my phone.”

    “You what…? Never mind, we got bigger shit to deal with.”

  Bronco, Morgan and Kaidyn raced across Fifth Street, just west of the 24th precinct, Grace having split up to go ahead. Older buildings encroached on the trio, the line between arcane and technological blurred the further they ran. Concrete paths eventually gave way to cobble stones, then to dirt as they navigated the winding alleyways of countless buildings. Morgan took the lead; he had the advantage in being able to see ahead in the night.

    “W-where exactly… is this… safe house?” Kaidyn stammered between heavy breaths. He might’ve been strong, but his stamina was laughable.

    “Near Korrigan Lake!” Morgan answered loudly from up ahead.

  They were getting dangerously close to the end of the alleyway; Morgan could hear the distant sounds of gunshots and shouting tickling his ears. That, and something much stronger burned his nose.

  He put his arm out to stop the others. “Stop here.”

The three crouched at the mouth of the alley, the street beyond empty of people. Old, brick houses lined the road, and just beyond that, in the next alleyway was the safe house: a small inconspicuous warehouse.

  Under siege.

  The night air was filled with the pained screams of men and the ricochet of gunfire.

  And blood.

Morgan cringed.

    “When does back-up arrive?” he asked.

  Bronco looked forlorn as he answered, “Back-up already arrived, Morgan. I managed to get just one message from them. They say… they say it’s _Vorvintti._ ”

  He swore, loudly.

    “I think it would be in our best interest to forget about this,” Bronco continued. “There isn’t anything we can really do. I know you told me to trust you, but what can you do on your own?”

  Plenty, he thought. Or nothing at all. A crazy plan began to shape its way in his head.

    “We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

  A jolt of fiery adrenaline electrified his veins as he exploded from the alley, sprinting across the empty street and into the next alleyway ahead. The exasperated sighs and exclamations of Kaidyn and Bronco followed close behind. At least they hadn’t given up on him completely.

    “Morgan, what’re you doing?!”

  The three stopped at the edge of the final alley, where the warehouse ahead was alive with shouts and bullet fire. It was an odd contrast.

  The warehouse sat in the middle of a peaceful suburban town amidst old, leafy trees. But there was nothing peaceful about the people running terrified from the building, or the angry sounds of gunfire that echoed from within the corrugated walls.

  Or the tinny flavour of blood salty in the air.

  Morgan breathed heavily through his mouth, trying to block out the smell. He was actually excited; he didn’t feel even a twinge of fear. But he could taste it on his tongue, just as easily as he could taste the scent of blood; people were _terrified_ in that building, and Morgan could taste it like a palpable _thing._

  It was delicious.

    _No it isn’t, no it isn’t, no it isn’t!_

He shook his head several times, like that would somehow shake away his feelings, and turned to the others.

    “I’m gonna’ go in there. You both don’t have to come if you don’t want to, but I have to try something.”

  A pause from them both, then, “Of course I’m going in!” said Kaidyn.

    “Ugh, I can’t let you go in alone. Killian would kill me.” said Bronco.

Morgan actually smiled.

They charged into the building.

 

   Morgan was beginning to get worried.

Too late, the moment he entered the building he realised that the three of them were dreadfully lacking in weapons. As he silently shuffled around the walls of the first corridor from within the building, the other two following suit, Morgan resisted the urge to chew on his bottom lip with anxiousness.

    “Morgan…!” Kaidyn hissed. “What’s the plan?”

  Morgan stopped abruptly, all but squashing himself against the grey wall. He’d never been inside this particular warehouse before; he had no idea where to go from here, or where best to regroup. He had no clue where to find the main area of the warehouse, where most of the fighting was surely taking place.

    “I dunno—”

He stopped midsentence as a new sound tickled his ears. It was so vastly different compared to everything else he was hearing that at first, Morgan wasn’t sure he was really hearing it at all. But after several seconds, there was no mistaking the childish peal, the high pitched voice.

_Laughter._

A child’s laughter, one that sounded as though the child was having a great deal of fun. It didn’t sound like it was coming very far off; Morgan could only deduce that it was from within the building itself.

  But what kind of child could be having so much fun in the middle of all this chaos? All this death?

Morgan could think of only one thing.

    “Can you hear that?” he asked in all but a whisper.

    “No…?” Kaidyn and Bronco whispered back in unison.

    “Just me then…” he muttered to himself. “I think there’s a vampire up ahead, you guys.” The two stiffened. “It sounds like a kid—”

    “A _kid?”_ Kaidyn exclaimed.

    “—Yes, a kid, Kai. The thing’s laughing like its Christmas; I’m surprised you can’t hear. Point is, that’s probably the _Vorvintti_ that back-up mentioned, so that’s the source of our problem.”

    “We’re gonna’ charge right up to the laughing-vampire-spawn-of-Satan?” Bronco mumbled.

    “Pretty much.”

 

  The three crept along the vast corridors of the warehouse, desperately trying to avoid plunging into any battles needlessly. They had a goal; it might not have been an appealing goal, but it was one nonetheless. Morgan didn’t want to waste his energy fighting battles that wouldn’t end the fight overall.

  But he wouldn’t have a choice, after long.

    “Down here.” Morgan stopped, silently listening ahead. Hearing no one, he led the others down a corridor to their right, the dim lights of the previous corridor barely piercing through the inky blackness of the corridor ahead.

    “Morg,” Kaidyn whispered anxiously. “The lights aren’t working down here.”

    “Aren’t they?” Morgan asked distractedly as he scanned ahead.

    “No they’re not, you moron. Not all of us can see in the dark.”

    “Oh. Stick close by then.” Morgan was too distracted to give Kaidyn a proper answer; a strange feeling had begun to blossom in the pit of his stomach. Something wasn’t right here.

  As the three crept along the corridor, _something_ suddenly grabbed Morgan’s ankle. He let out a surprised and very unmanly yelp, before vigorously shaking free whatever had grabbed him.

    “ _Jesus…!”_ Kaidyn stammered as he bumped into Morgan, and Bronco bumped into him.

A low moan of pain issued from the darkness at Morgan’s feet. He reluctantly knelt down, fixing his eyes on whatever lay in the dark just beyond his piercing vision. As his eyes adjusted, Morgan let out a small gasp.

    “What is it?” Bronco asked as he squinted into nothingness.

    “Kill me…” a man’s voice stammered weakly.

    “His face…” Morgan managed. “It’s been torn— _peeled_ off.”

 

    “That’s gross.” Kaidyn said flatly.

Morgan scowled. “He’s in _pain,_ asshole.”

  The man—Morgan thankfully once again had no idea who it was— shuddered breaths between his exposed teeth, blood leaking from his meaty face like a wet towel. Lidless, shockingly blue eyes whirled around in the darkness, wide in pain and—Morgan could taste it on his tongue— fear _._

    “Child…” the man spat between clenched teeth. “Fucking _child!”_

    “That kid did this to you…?” Morgan asked slowly.

    “Not a kid… _Monster._ K-kill it… Make it _bleed…_ ” With a final shudder, the icy blue of the man’s eyes rolled back into his head, and he was dead.

Morgan slowly stood. He clenched his hands at his sides, then stopped as he realised they were wet. Blood stained them red from where he knelt beside the faceless man. He hastily scrubbed them at his jeans, but the smell wouldn’t go away. Far-off laughter echoed in Morgan’s ears as he tried, and failed to scrub the blood off his hands. It wasn’t just there, he realised. The aroma was coming from everywhere: from the walls, the floor; it permeated the air like a toxic and alluring miasma. He was dragging air into his lungs in hurried huffs, but it didn’t feel like it was enough. His stomach was growling angrily in protest, like his intestines were twisting in a vice. His body _ached_ —

    “Morgan…?”

  Kaidyn clapped his hand on Morgan’s shoulder, a heavy and reassuring weight. The ache died down to a distant roar; the aroma just a slight irritation at his nostrils. His breathing was ragged, but it was better than the near panic-attack he was having before. It was only as he began to continue down the corridor that he remembered _Vorvintti_ didn’t even need to breathe.

    _Just a memory,_ he thought. _From when I was human._

  It was as the three were crossing from the vast network of corridors into a small office-like area that they came across their first battle.

  The area itself seemed impossible to exist; the warehouse didn’t seem nearly so large from the outside. A meek office area filled with solitary desks, chairs and computers, overlooked the actual storage area of the warehouse outside a range of windows on its other side. Though the office area seemed to have come under fire, and three bodies were squashed awkwardly around the office chairs, the place was deserted. A door on the other side of the room seemed to lead out onto steps that went down into the dimly-lit storage area outside. Their only way out.

  As the trio crossed the room wearily, a shout rang out from a different entrance to the corridors from where they came. The shout was followed by a brief thunder of stamping feet, then a burst of rapid gunfire. They hadn’t even made it halfway across before one of the Akatsuki came crashing into the room.

  Her office clothes torn, a bullet wound bleeding profusely at her thigh, the woman glanced at the three of them before turning back to the corridor.

    “What are you waiting for?” she asked, exasperated, as she went to duck behind an office desk opposite the corridor entrance from where she came. The three didn’t even move as the distant thump of footsteps steadily made its way to them. “Hide, you idiots!” the woman hissed.

  Too stunned to do anything else, they quickly found hiding spots of their own; Morgan hid behind a desk just to the right of the woman’s, Kaidyn hid inside a storage closet close to the exit, and Bronco hid behind a desk in the corner of the room. The woman glanced at Morgan quickly, her eyes widening.

  Morgan thought she might’ve figured out who he was, until she growled in a whisper, “ _Where’s your gun?!”_

Morgan stuttered out, “I-I don’t have one!”

    “You _what—”_

  She stopped quickly as the pounding of feet grew louder and louder, until voices echoed in the emptiness of the office area.

    “She passed through here!”

    “Shit, where’d she go?”

    “That fucking bitch!”

  The woman sucked in a breath. Morgan didn’t know what she’d done to piss these guys off, but he suddenly found himself looking at her with a new measure of respect. She looked at him, her eyes pleading, as she put up four fingers on her free hand. As Toronto’s men came forward, she put down a finger. Then another.

  Morgan had no idea what to do.

In a moment, less than he second, this crazy—brave, but crazy— chick was going to start shooting, with or without his help, he thought. He had no weapons; the nearest one was from one of the corpses across the room, and there was no guarantee that it even had any bullets left in it. Not that he’d be able to get there in time before those guys started shooting.

  But on the other hand, he _was_ much faster than they were.

Through the distant blood pumping in his ears, and the milliseconds before the woman counted down, Morgan counted the heartbeats of the men moving into the corridor.

    _Six,_ he thought. If he concentrated hard enough, he could even make out where they displaced within the office. But would it be enough?

  A crazy idea began to shape its way in Morgan’s head—crazy, but brave. Stealing his resolve, he looked back into the grey eyes of the woman, then nodded.


	17. Ivy League

 

  With barely a cry, the woman whipped up from behind her hiding place, accurately shooting one guy in the head and another in the chest where his heart should be. Morgan was instantly impressed.

  But he didn’t have time for that. From the split second she started shooting, Morgan leaped over the desk. One of the men were standing, unfortunately for him, much too close to the desk where Morgan was hiding. Before the man could even turn around, Morgan had already broken his neck and stolen his gun. It was a rifle, not Morgan’s favourite, but he’d make do with what he was given; don’t bite the hand that feeds you and all that. There were only three men left, and Morgan dispatched them quickly; three quick bursts of the rifle, and they were down. They hadn’t even realised he was there by the time their bodies hit the ground.

    _Too slow, too slow,_ he wondered distantly.

  Silence ensued, broken only by the distant fighting and the high pitched giggling of the vampire-child.

Morgan, despite not actually having done much, was breathing heavily. His blood was singing in his veins at the carnage, adrenaline electrifying his blood like a lighter to fuel.

 

    “Everyone okay?” Kaidyn asked, breaking the silence. He went over to the woman, helping her to her feet. She winced slightly as weight was pressed onto her injured leg, but she didn’t falter.

    “I’m fine.” She said formally, but not unkindly. She looked back at Morgan.

  He still stood, staring down at the dead bodies of Toronto’s men, too stunned by how easily they had fallen, how slowly they moved. How disappointed he was.

    “Ah, don’t mind him.” Kaidyn supplied, plastering on a dim smile. “What’s your name, Miss?”

  The woman turned back to Kaidyn slowly. “Ivy…” she said, just as slowly.

    “Well, Miss Ivy, do you mind if Bronco takes a look at your leg?” he looked at Bronco, pleading sporadically with his eyes as he indicated Ivy’s leg. Then he looked briefly at where Morgan still stood stock-still, like a statue.

   “Ah-uh, yeah sure. Of course.” Ivy nodded her assent as Bronco stepped forward. Kaidyn slowly made his way to Morgan, as though he were trying to coax a wild animal.

    “Hey there, bud. You done good.” Kaidyn awkwardly placed his hand on Morgan’s shoulder, awkward because Morgan was so much taller than he was, and that he didn’t move an inch. “Hey, you hearing me? It’s over. You got ‘em. We gotta’ keep going now, yeah?” Kaidyn gave him a little shake.

    “H-huh?” Morgan stammered finally.

  He turned to Kaidyn just as the rifle slowly slipped from between his clammy fingers. He was terribly hot, Morgan realised. He hadn’t even noticed that he was drenched in sweat. Kaidyn stepped back as he looked at Morgan’s eyes.

    “Whoa, okay. Are you alright, Morg? You got eyes like a drug addict.”

    “What does that mean…?” Morgan stooped to pick up the rifle. He’d probably need that later. He moved to sit down on one of the desks, fanning himself in vain with his free hand. His skin was uncomfortably feverish.

    “It means you got pupils like no one’s business.”

    “Speak like a normal person, Kai.”

    “Your pupils are dilated like heck, you moron. And did someone tell you that they’re red, too?”

  Morgan took the time to contemplate this. His body, and by extension, his mind, didn’t feel quite right.

    “That’s not right.” he said after a moment.

    “No shit. Who’s heard of red pupils before—”

    “No, not that. They don’t dilate. They do the opposite of that, they… they—”

    “Constrict.” Ivy supplied. She waved Bronco off as she came to stand by Morgan and Kaidyn, her leg all but forgotten. “And they shouldn’t really be doing that either.” So casually no one could stop her before it was done, she had her pistol aimed at Morgan’s forehead.

    “I’ve seen a _Vorvintti_ before; one of few who have and survived, in fact. Their eyes are either slits, like snakes, or they’re dilated, like an addict high on the scent of blood. Either way, they’re not human. They’re monsters.”

  She flicked off the safety.

Morgan didn’t move, but Kaidyn and Bronco did, waving their arms desperately and pleading with Ivy to drop the gun. She didn’t move, either. To Morgan, though her hands didn’t shake and her eyes were as cold and bleak as ice, there was something simmering just beneath the surface.

  Just the smallest twinge of fear.

She moved too slowly, Morgan realised with a jolt. Ivy was vastly capable on her own, he could see, but she was nothing compared to him. No one really was, he thought absently. It was a lonely feeling.

  Morgan didn’t look, but he felt Kaidyn still beside him, heard his heart slow into a steady, heavy beat. A lingering feeling, a memory really, had Morgan feeling fear on Ivy’s behalf.

    “Put the gun down, Miss.” Kaidyn said, his voice barely above a chilled whisper, but still commanding the room. “You shoot him and I can promise, you won’t make it out of here alive.” Ivy was focused on Morgan entirely, but even she seemed slightly unnerved by Kaidyn’s words. This wasn’t the promise of someone bluffing. This was the promise of someone fully capable of dishing out their resolve. Morgan could see the cogs in Ivy’s mind turning; whether or not she really believed in him. Morgan only needed to push her just a little further.

    “He’ll do it.” he said flatly. “I’ve seen him do it before.” He hadn’t, really. Kaidyn was about as threatening mentally as a teddy bear. Physically though…

    “Then let him kill me.” A steely resolve cooled Ivy’s eyes as she reasserted herself, her finger once again finding the trigger. “It’d be worth it to take one of you monsters with me.”

  Morgan clicked his tongue. The peal of the vampire child’s laughter hadn’t really ever left his ears, only quietened down as he’d grown used to it. In the silent tension of the office however, it came back to him, louder than ever, followed now by the cries of men and women. He didn’t have the time to die.

    “I don’t have the time for this.” Morgan hissed as he felt himself warm again with anger. “Put the damn gun down.”

  An uncomfortable pressure tugged at his belly, but he put it out of his mind. To his surprise, Ivy’s steely glare broke. It was only for a fraction of a second though; in the next moment, it was gone, and the venom was back in her gaze. But her hands were shaking, if only slightly. Morgan was puzzled to say the least.

    “Ivy, do you know who I am?”

    “I don’t care. You’re _Vorvintti._ You’re an enemy.”

  After a moment, Morgan realised what was so strange about this all.

    _Why hasn’t she shot me yet?_

    “You don’t really believe that…”

    “No I… yes I… Yes you are.”

  A familiar tug at his belly, with the familiar crack in Ivy’s resolve, before she composed herself. Her hands were shaking slightly worse than before, but she didn’t seem to notice. It looked like it was taking enough of her energy to keep it aimed at Morgan’s head. The child’s laughter echoed in his ears, a distant reminder.

    “There’s a real vampire here that I need to kill, Ivy. You gotta’ let me go. Please. Just put down the gun, let me go.” This time it took a real toll on her; her hands were shaking so much, her resolve so broken. With a sharp cry she flung the gun away from them, then sat heavily on the nearest desk, her head in her hands as her shoulders heaved with silent sobs. He hadn’t meant to make her cry.

    “All you monsters… just the same.” She whimpered. “You just boss us humans around like we’re nothing, like we’re _animals…!_ I thought I could do it, but fuck, not again…”

  Morgan was thoroughly confused. He glanced at Kaidyn and Bronco, who had equally confused looks on their faces. Kaidyn stood near Ivy, speaking gingerly.

    “What do you mean?”

  Ivy looked up from between her fingers, eyes smeared with mascara. “Don’t act so fucking innocent. You let him do it. If only I could… _Dammit!”_ She angrily thumped the desk next to her, making everyone jump.

    “We don’t know what you’re talking about, Ivy.” Kaidyn said flatly.

  She looked up, looking into the eyes of everyone around her, Morgan’s confused stare for the longest.

    “You really don’t know…?” she asked, disbelieving.

  The three shook their heads in unison.

    “What _are_ you?” she asked, looking at Morgan with a mixture of fear and confusion. “How can you compel someone and not realise it?”

 

  It took a moment to reach Morgan’s ears, and even then he wasn’t quite sure that what he heard was entirely correct.

    “C-compel?” he stammered.

    “Yes, compel, glamour, seduce, charm; whichever you prefer. Jesus, are you _new?”_

  Morgan didn’t know how to answer that. “A week—”

    “A _week?!”_ Ivy squealed, very unprofessionally. “Jesus, you shouldn’t even be allowed in public! And I let you save my life—”

    “‘ _Let’_ you?! Whoa okay, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We killed three _each;_ who’s the monster here, huh? You didn’t seem so up yourself when your life was in danger…” Morgan hissed between his teeth as the vampire child’s voice grew in his ears, leaving an ear-splitting headache in its wake. He touched his temple tentatively at the reminder.

    “Ah, I don’t have time for this. I’m here to kick that vampire kid’s ass, and that’s what I’m gonna’ do. _You,”_ he looked at Ivy as he leaped from the desktop. She flinched. “You can do whatever. Head back, stay here, I don’t care. Just don’t yourself killed.”

    “H-head back to _where?”_ she asked.

    “Where do you think? To Akatsuki base maybe? I dunno’, just a thought.” He walked around the desk toward the exit, not turning around for a reply.

    “Wait!” she called nervously. “W-what’s your name?!”

  Morgan opened the exit door with a squeal before turning back to Ivy briefly. “Morgan. Morgan Takashima.”

  She paled. Then turned red. Then blue. She wasn’t breathing anymore.

    “T-T-Takashima? Killian’s… son…?”

    “The one and only.”


	18. Mafia Twins? Isn't That a Movie?

****

  The moment the trio quietly shut the exit door behind them, they were greeted with silence and darkness.

It wasn’t total darkness exactly; the lights were on, but they were so incredibly dim, barely piercing the thick black of the storage house below. From where the three stood, it looked like a vast maze; massive hedges of stuff lined the tall walls that disappeared into the gloom far ahead, each hedge disappearing off into the left and right. There was no one there; the sounds of fighting seemed to come from deeper within the maze of shelves. But the vampire child’s voice could be heard above it all, the peal of laughter nearly painful to Morgan’s ears.

 

    “ _Jesus_ what is _that?”_ Kaidyn asked, his hands clamped over his ears.

    “It’s the vampire kid.” Morgan answered as he started ahead. The darkness was thick, but it didn’t bother him too much.

    “Shit, _that’s_ what you’ve been hearing this whole time?”

Morgan nodded.

  Bronco and Kaidyn followed Morgan inside, keeping close, and hefted the rifles they’d managed to take from the dead Toronto’s men. It was obvious to the three of them now what was going on; the darkness was impenetrable by human eyes; Toronto must’ve done something to dim them, and the dark of night outside didn’t help.

  This vampire child, whoever, or _whatever_ it was, seemed to be hunting the Akatsuki for sport. Following every ring of the child’s laughter came a guttural howl of pain so visceral, Morgan couldn’t tell if it came from the throat of a man or a woman. But he could taste the pain and fear. Smell the blood as he continued. Whatever Ivy thought of him as a monster, he had _nothing_ on this nightmare. He hefted the rifle in his clammy hands, but it didn’t really feel like much of a comfort. What was a gun to a monster that could peel people’s faces off?

  A horrified scream tore through the air close to the trio, making them jump. This was followed by the desperate pounding of feet as someone ran toward them. The three put up their rifles; Morgan stood just behind the shelves to the left, Kaidyn and Bronco to the right. To Morgan, just beneath the pounding of feet, he heard panicked, quick intakes of breath and a rapid heartbeat; whoever was running toward them was terrified.

    “Careful guys,” he whispered. “I don’t think he’s a threat.”

    “Who—” Kaidyn asked, then stopped abruptly.

  A man came running out of the shadows, his expensive suit torn and bloody, his face scrunched up in terror. Just as he neared the hiding spot of the trio, gunfire rang out into the warehouse, joining the cacophony of fighting. The man fell forward, his expression straightening first into shook, then into nothing at all as he fell with a heavy _thump_ on the concrete below. Blood pooled around the body, leaking into the darkness of the warehouse beyond.

 

    “Oh,” a man’s voice said, slightly disappointed. “Now _he_ didn’t last long at all.”

  Slow, unrushed footsteps echoed up ahead from where the dead man— an Akatsuki member, Morgan finally recognised— emerged. Out of the shadows came two men, both in tailored trousers, white button-down shirts and suspenders, holding glittering silver pistols. For a moment, Morgan was confused; it seemed as though he was seeing two of the same person, stepped right out of a page from a Mafia thriller. But no, he realised after a moment; the men were twins. Both had shaved heads, tanned skin, black, black eyes and a manic grin that sent a shiver down Morgan’s spine.

    Vorvintti, Morgan thought. _Wait, no. They don’t… they don’t feel right._

  He gripped the rifle to his chest, appraising the two men. They seemed confident, stronger than the average man probably, but by no means were they vampires. Morgan could smell it— _sense_ it on them; not a drop of blood stained them, and their pupils didn’t glow red.

Not vampires, but something else.

    “Where do you suppose he was trying to run, Eth?” one of the men asked.

    “Dunno, Nate,” the other answered.

Both wore identical grins of malice as they came to appraise the body. Morgan flattened himself against the shelf, allowing the darkness to swallow him. Looking to the right, across the middle where the man’s corpse lay into the alcove on the other side, he saw Kaidyn and Bronco do the same.

    “Ah man, this is getting boring,” the one called Nate—at least Morgan thought that was him— said. He absently kicked the corpse’s head. Morgan felt his skin grow uncomfortably warm.

    “Yeah, I know what you mean. Benjamin keeps hogging all the good ones,” Eth answered with a sigh.

Nate nodded. “But you can’t really say no to him, right?”

Eth smiled. “No you fuckin’ cannot.”

 

  In unison, the twins lifted their pistols; Eth, furthest away from Morgan, pointing his toward Kaidyn and Bronco, and Nate pointed his directly at Morgan’s chest.

    “What have we here…?” the men—only really boys, Morgan realised— said together.

    “Man, humans are so dumb.” Eth said.

    _Humans…? What’re you… talking about you’re human too...!_  Morgan was about to say this very thing, then stopped himself. It didn’t seem like these twins knew what _he_ was just yet. He could use this.

    “You didn’t think we couldn’t see you guys hiding away like pussies?” Nate sneered into Morgan’s face with a smile, pushing the gun further into Morgan’s chest as he did so. “Drop the gun.”

  Morgan did as he was told. He might’ve been fast, but he didn’t think he could outrun a bullet at point blank. He distantly heard the others do the same.

    “That’s it...!” Eth said, ecstatic. “Now, we like to play this game when we’ve got prey cornered,” Nate nodded in agreement, “where we send you off with a head start, maybe thirty seconds, a minute if we’re generous, then we hunt you down.”

  Morgan sneered, careful not to show teeth. He didn’t want his ace discovered just yet; he’d let these boys have their fun.

    “Sounds like fun.” Morgan sneered with an equally cold smile at Nate. Nate stopped his nodding.

    “What was that?”

    “I said it sounds like _fun._ When do we start?”

  Nate prodded the gun against his chest, not angry, but petulantly annoyed. “No, no, no! That’s not how prey properly behaves! You’re supposed to whine in terror, plead with us or with your Gods, whatever. You’re not supposed to have _fun…!”_ He ground the word ‘fun’ between his teeth like it was something disgusting. Standing this close, Morgan was able to get a proper look at Nate’s too onyx-black eyes.

  Definitely human, Morgan decided, with not the faintest hint of red.

    “Get a load of this guy, Ethan! _‘Fun’_ he says. Idiot.”

   Nate moved, far quicker than a human should’ve been able to, and shot two quick bursts into Morgan’s thigh.

 

  At least, he _would have,_ if Morgan hadn’t seen it coming first.

    _Too slow, too slow…!_ he mused.

  Grabbing the barrel of the gun, Morgan twisted it sharply away from himself, Nate twisting with it. In the span of a heartbeat, Morgan had Nate twisted in his grip, one arm firmly clamped around his neck like a vice, his other hand holding the stolen pistol to Nate’s temple. No one moved for several seconds as silence ensued, the only sounds being the distant helpless cries of the vampire child’s victims.

    “Don’t move, or I’ll blow his fuckin’ head in.” Morgan spat.

Ethan didn’t move.

  Instead, a steely kind of coldness crossed over his features, all playfulness from a moment ago gone. It reminded Morgan eerily of the _Vorvintti,_ and how quickly they lost their humanity.

    “Kai, take his gun.”

  Kaidyn hastily scrambled forward to take the pistol from Ethan’s grip. Ethan appeared to struggle for a second, desperately trying to keep the gun within his grasp, but it was useless; Kaidyn was much too strong.

    “W-whoa there, soldier. No need to be so-so aggressive…!” Nate gasped from beneath Morgan’s forearm, still trying to keep a jovial mood.

    “I want information.” Morgan said to Ethan, ignoring Nate entirely.

    “About what?” Ethan asked coldly.

    “That vampire,” Morgan tilted his head to where the vampire child’s voice could be heard echoing in the distance, “Tell me about it.”

  Ethan visibly gagged, looking as though someone had punched him in the stomach. After several moments, he seemed to compose himself, if only slightly. Sweat glistened on his forehead where none was a moment ago.

    “Fuck off.”

 Morgan flicked off the gun’s safety, pressing it none-too-gently into Nate’s skull. Nate let out a pitiful whine.

   “Okay, okay! Fuck.”

  Morgan loosened his grip, just slightly.

    “Alright. But you’ll let my brother go. And you won’t tell anything to Benjamin if you manage to get a word in before he kills you.”

    “Benjamin?” Morgan asked.

    “The vampire. Our… our Master.”

 

  Morgan’s gripped loosened.

Nate managed to twist away. He tried to scramble for the pistol in Morgan’s hand, just like Morgan had done to him, but that wasn’t possible. He might’ve been momentarily shocked, but he wasn’t a total moron. Morgan pushed Nate off of him, as easily as he might lift a puppy, then pointed the gun at his chest. Nate paused instantly. Morgan looked across his shoulder at Ethan, whose icy stare had somehow grown even colder.

    “What do you mean?”

    “I mean what I said; Benjamin’s our Master. We’re his thralls, his servants; whatever you want to call it.”

    “…Thralls…?” Morgan asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “That’s… that’s a thing?”

 

  Nate clicked his tongue, before seeming to remember his current situation and schooling his features.

    “Yes, good Sir, that’s a thing. Any other inspiring questions?”

  Morgan was too stunned to answer sarcastically. “How?”

    “He feeds us his blood,” Ethan supplied, his expression unchanged unlike his brother. “But he can’t turn us. We’re stronger, faster than a normal human, but we’re not…”

    “Vampires.” Morgan finished.

    _‘Can’t’ turn them? Or won’t?_ he wondered.

Ethan’s cold stare broke just a fraction as Nate seemed to sober. Were they… disappointed? Nate suddenly looked puzzled, his brow scrunching as he glanced at his pistol in Morgan’s hand.

    “‘We’re stronger, faster than a normal human,’” Nate echoed. “But shit man, you have a pretty impressive grip. And you’re fast too. Just who are you?”

    “Fuck me.” Morgan dismissed quickly. “Nevermind that; I need to know about Benjamin, and if there’s a way to kill him.”

  Nate’s puzzled expression didn’t waver, but Ethan started to giggle, his icy stare broken. “ _Kill_ Benjamin? Just what kind of shit do they smoke there in Akatsuki?! You can’t _kill_ a _Vorvintti._ Granted Benjamin isn’t a progenitor—”

    “Pro-what?” Morgan interrupted.

    “ _Progenitor…!_ Jesus, don’t they teach anything in public school?” Ethan jeered.

    “I went to a private school, thank you. Explain.”

    “Progenitors are… the first vampires, you could say. The ones before there were any at all. All vampire species have them, if you look. Every other vampire that came from them were either born from them, a human turned by them, or the result of a human and a vampire.”

  Morgan nodded slowly.

    _A human turned by them…_

    “And Benjamin isn’t a… progenitor?”

  Ethan shook his head with an angry sigh, like a school teacher annoyed their student wasn’t getting it. “No, of course not. Progenitors don’t usually meddle in stupid shit like this. They go after the big wigs. Even then, they don’t often come out from the woodwork.”

    “Is that a fact…” Morgan mumbled, grounding the words in his mouth. “What is _he_ , then? A human turned?”

    “God no, fuck that. That shit _never_ happens. I’ve never met a human that was turned by a progenitor, and knock on wood I never have to.” Ethan visibly shivered. Morgan’s chest tightened.

    “What, why?”

    “Ugh, because progenitors get more powerful as they get older! Their spawn in turn becomes stronger, too!” Nate all but shouted, exasperated. “Progenitors don’t want to run the risk of siring something stronger than they are.” He looked to be losing his mind from boredom, and _not_ fearing for his life.

    “Oh,” was all Morgan said in response.

    “Yeah, ‘oh’! And ooh, hey, a little bit of trivia for you! Sometimes, their sirelings go insane and go on killing sprees, how great is that! Animal instincts are great, aren’t they?” Without having to be told, Nate plopped down next to a shelf, leaning his back against it. Morgan didn’t move to stop him.

    “Oh.” Morgan said again. Before he could stop it, both the pistol and rifle clattered from his grasp.

 

  Everyone stared at the guns as they fell, even the twins. Morgan stood stock-still, his mind still reeling.

    _Go insane…?_

_‘Killing spree’…?_

_Stronger than the progenitor…?!_

  His body grew warm, feverish again. Morgan let out a breath, and was surprised to see the smallest puff of steam wisp from between his lips. His body shook slightly; Morgan clamped his hands into fists, nails digging into flesh, trying desperately to calm down.

  He let out another breath, this one thankfully absent of steam.

 

    “…What is Benjamin?”

  Everyone flinched as Morgan’s voice cut the silence. Nate glanced at the guns on the ground, then back at Morgan. He seemed to decide not to go against Morgan for the moment.

    “He’s born from a vampire and another vampire. Old ones, but not near as old as a progenitor, of course,” Nate answered slowly, hesitant.

    “Is he strong?”

    “Well now, I can’t say my own master is weak, can I? Yeah he’s strong, but I’ve seen stronger.”

  Morgan nodded. He stepped forward, only carrying the rifle he came with. He kicked the pistol in Nate’s direction. Nate didn’t move as the gun stopped beside his shoe, his expression incredulous.

    “And how’d you think he’d fare against a… what did you call it, a ‘sireling’?”

    “He wouldn’t… I mean it depends on the progenitor but— he’d probably lose.”

    “Good,” was all Morgan said. He nodded to Kaidyn, “Give him back his gun.”

Kaidyn didn’t argue. He passed the gun to Ethan, who took it, an equally incredulous look on his face as his brother’s.

  Nate hastily scrambled to his feet, the pistol forgotten. “But what are you planning to do?! Without a sireling, there’s no fuckin’ point—”

    “We have one.”

  Morgan turned back to Nate, a full smile on his lips this time. He allowed his pent-up frustration, anger and hunger out all at once, allowing his fangs to slip from his gums, and his eyes to sharpen into slits. Here he allowed himself the satisfaction of seeing Nate visibly pale and scramble back into the wall, as though he were looking for a place to hide.

    “Th-that’s not possible…!” he stammered.

    “Nathan?” Ethan moved forward to stand beside his brother, who seemed to be on the verge of a panic attack.

    “Ethan…! A sireling; it’s a goddam first-ancestor…!”

  Ethan turned to Morgan now. Morgan didn’t like the attention so much anymore; these guys were assholes, but it was something else to have two full-grown killers looking at you with terror in their eyes. Morgan’s smile faded.

    “You came here to kill Benjamin?” Ethan asked, his voice surprisingly steady as his brother coward behind him. Morgan nodded. “Who sired you?”

    “Rafaella.”

  Ethan grinned, huge and manic, as Nathan coward behind him, whimpering.

    “You’ll do it. You’ll kill him for sure.”

  Nathan shuddered heavily, his blubbering seeming to sound to Morgan just a bit like pleading. He wondered how horrible a master Benjamin must have been to his thralls or servants or whatever for them to be both devoted to him, and elated at the possibility of his death. As Benjamin’s voice cried happily in the distance, Morgan figured he didn’t really want to wonder at all.

    “Go, get out of here. I’m not here for you.” The smile slipped from Ethan’s face as he tightly clamped his hands on his brother’s shoulders and steered him in the opposite direction without a second glance, Nate’s pistol forgotten. Morgan turned back to Kaidyn and Bronco. He picked up Nate’s pistol, tucking it into the waistband of his jeans.

    “Well,” Morgan said flatly. “We’re here to kill a vampire, so let’s get going.”


	19. He'd Be Cute if He Wasn't Satan-Spawn

****

  Stepping around the corpse, the trio continued on their way toward the centre of the storehouse.

It hadn’t seemed like they’d gone very far at all, but Morgan felt entirely different to the person he was a few minutes ago.

  A sireling, a ‘first-ancestor

 

’, Nate had said. And the way he’d looked at him… Morgan couldn’t shake the look from his mind. From the day he was turned, not even his younger brother had looked at him that way, looked at him with the full and terrified knowledge of what he was, and what he was capable of.

  Worse still, Morgan couldn’t shake off the part of himself that enjoyed seeing it.

    _Dammit…!_

  He ignored the overwhelming urge to punch something. Knowing his luck, he’d probably knock over a towering shelf and somehow cause an avalanche of junk. It was actually pretty funny, as Morgan pictured the cascading shelves banging into each other one-by-one. His father would never forgive him.

 

  He was violently shaken from his musings as the corpses began to appear.

 

  As they moved forward in the darkness, the three stepped into a puddle of blood. It was massive, spanning the entire corridor from where they stood, a torrent of red seeping into every corner and every crevice. Morgan stopped abruptly, Kaidyn bumped into him once again, and Bronco did the same.

    “Jesus, Morg! Watch where you’re— oh.”

  Morgan wasn’t breathing. At all; he’d stopped his flow of air the moment he saw the blood. He didn’t dare open his mouth; Empress-knows what’d happen to him if he tasted it on his tongue. Luckily, though his heart beat like human it didn’t seem to crave oxygen like one. He was perfectly comfortable not breathing.

    “Shit man, you gonna’ be okay, Morg?” Kaidyn asked.

  Morgan vigorously nodded his head, his cheeks puffed with air. He nearly knocked his glasses off, but Kaidyn seemed to understand what he was saying after a moment.

    “Good thinking.” Bronco remarked as they continued.

  If Morgan thought the blood was the most of his worries, he was sadly mistaken.

  The next few steps took the trio to the _source._

  Morgan had never seen such destruction, such pure _carnage._

It was a mountain; a _horde_ of people, of corpses, of limbs, of flesh. At first there was only a few; an arm here, a leg there, sinew and muscle strewn ahead— a horrifying breadcrumb trail that lead the trio out from the maze of shelves and onto the warehouse floor. The three stepped lightly, afraid that their steps could awaken the dead.

  It was there, surrounded by blood, flesh and bone, that they first encountered Benjamin.

The darkness of the massive clearing of boxes was absolute; Kaidyn and Bronco could barely see, their only light being the pale green exit sign above the side-door leading to the outside. But Morgan could see just fine, and what he saw twisted his stomach.

  The child—Benjamin—hadn’t stopped as the trio arrived; in fact, he hadn’t even acknowledged they were there. He was young, younger than Morgan first imagined, probably only eight or nine years old, with soft, canary-yellow hair stained with blood that curled around an equally soft and angelic face. He was dressed similarly to Nate and Ethan; a ruined button-down shirt, grey shorts and suspenders and boots— a look that made him seem like some kind of lord’s son. His cherubic face and cute little ensemble did nothing to mitigate the fact that he was covered head-to-toe in blood, and had a grin on his little, red-stained lips that barely concealed monstrous fangs.

  Benjamin dangled one of the Akatsuki in the air by his throat; likely the last member left alive. He had to stand on a pile of bodies to do it, but he didn’t seem to mind, if his smile and bell-like laughter was anything to go by.

 

    “I hate to break my toys, but you’ve pissed me off. Goodbye.”

 

  Before anyone, even Morgan, could move to stop him, Benjamin twisted the man in his fearfully strong grip, reached behind his neck, and tore out his spine.

 

  The man died instantly, only a strangled gurgle indicating he was even alive to begin with. Benjamin threw the bones and corpse into the pile behind him, his expression bored.

    “Aww, you’re no fun,” he sniffed, a ruby-tinged tear sliding down his chubby cheek.

  The trio were frozen in place, too shocked to even breathe— literally, in Morgan’s case.

Benjamin then turned towards them, as though noticing them for the first time. He wiped the tear away quickly, a grin taking its place.

    “Have you come to play with me?” he asked in his angel-like voice. “I was hoping I hadn’t killed them _all…!”_

  Before he had even finished his sentence, Benjamin leapt from the pile of flesh and landed in front of Kaidyn. He moved with incredible speed; Morgan hadn’t even registered he’d moved, his body a blur. With seemingly little effort, Benjamin kicked Kaidyn square in the gut, sending him flying and landing in a pile of limbs far behind them.

  Morgan snapped to attention. He was wholly unprepared for Benjamin’s initial speed, but all he needed was a demonstration. Benjamin stepped to where Bronco was standing on the other side of Morgan, ignoring Morgan completely, and pulled back his leg for another kick. Bronco wasn’t like Kaidyn, Morgan panicked; he wouldn’t get up easily after a kick like that.

  Morgan just had enough time to position himself in front of Bronco while pulling him away, before Benjamin kicked him, too.

  Not even whilst having his throat torn out did Rafaella exert this much power. The breath—what was left of it anyway— was literally snatched from Morgan’s chest as he went sprawling into the ground— Morgan noted absently that Benjamin wasn’t able to kick him quite as far. He didn’t have time to ponder it, though, as his belly and ribs ached from the pain. If he were still human, he didn’t think he’d have emerged without at least a broken rib. As it were, only his breath was taken, as well as the concentration he’d been using to not breathe.

  He took great gulps of air now, more a human reflex than any need for oxygen.

 

  And regretted it immediately.

    _Fuck that’s—_

_No, no no no, NO._

_Oh man, that’s something else, I can’t—_

_It hurts— it doesn’t. No, it does._

_I’m—_

A violent shiver rippled down his spine, with it an electrifying alertness in his veins; the affect coursed from his head to his toes, intoxicating and all-encompassing. His muscled tightened, alert with adrenaline and a feverish heat as his heart pulsed faster and stronger, a drum-beat in his ears. His mouth welled with saliva, fangs fully extended as he slowly stood. His vision swam red; though it sharpened, almost as strong as when he’d first taken blood; there was too much to _see._ He didn’t know where to _begin—_

 

_ROAR…!_

Broken out of his hungry trance, Morgan glanced to the pile of limbs Kaidyn had flown into. An earth-shattering roar, as though from a massive beast, rattled his teeth as the limbs shifted.

  Even Benjamin stood stock-still as a massive bear erupted from the mound of corpses.


	20. Oh, I Forgot to Mention He Could Do That?

****

  The bear, a great black grizzly larger than the biggest pick-up truck imaginable, burst from the tangle of limbs with a fierce bellow, tatters of clothing falling away as he fell onto all fours and ran at Benjamin. He wasn’t an average bear; he moved much faster, as though he only weighed as much as a feather and had the agility of a cat. Benjamin was, surprisingly, too shocked too even retaliate as the grizzly swiped a massive dustbin lid-sized paw at the child, sweeping him off his feet and into the shelves behind him like a rag doll.

  The bear padded forward quickly, wasting no time as Benjamin struggled to stand. The grizzly took tiny Benjamin in his mighty jaws and trapped them shut like a crocodile.

  At least, that’s what was _supposed_ to happen. Benjamin wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. With his frail, stick-like arms, Benjamin held the bear’s jaws open wide. With a burst of supernatural strength, the child forced the bear’s jaws open further and leapt gracefully into the air, kicking off from the bear’s forehead, and landing behind him as the grizzly’s jaws snapped closed behind him.

  Morgan was eerily startled at the memory of him doing something similar.

Benjamin turned around, for the first time getting a good look at the grizzly. His face lit up with joy.

    “Whoa…! I couldn’t even smell it! I’ve always wanted to play with a shape-shifting bear!”

  The grizzly turned around angrily, faster than a normal bear should’ve been able to, and snapped his massive jaws at Benjamin’s torso. The vampire only leapt out of the way with a giggle, the initial surprise of the bear’s appearance wearing off.

    “C’mon! You can do better than _that!”_

  Benjamin goaded the grizzly, leaping and dancing this way and that as the bear tried desperately to claw and bite. It wasn’t a fight he’d win. Morgan watched as the vampire didn’t waver, but the bear began to tire. He didn’t stop to interrupt them as the grizzly began to pant, each swipe of his giant paws getting further and further away from their target, each _snap_ of his jaws less forceful than the one before it.

    “You’re beginning to bore me, Mr. Bear.”

  The two, the vampire and the bear, squared off, circling each other on the bloody floor. The grizzly was panting heavily, now too tired to so much as whine. Benjamin didn’t seem in the least perturbed, as awake and alert as ever before.

    _The more this drags on, the more likely he is to kill him,_ Morgan thought dimly.

  His body was still alight with feverish energy, his gut screaming, crying, you name it, in protest. He ignored it, pushing the feelings down as far as they’d go. He had bigger things to worry about.

    “Kaidyn,” Morgan said. His voice was barely above a whisper, but he tried to feed as much authority into it as possible, the way he learnt when the two of them were still in high school. His gut twisted.

  The grizzly, Kaidyn, flinched. He turned to Morgan, a small whine whistling between his teeth as his large, chocolate-brown animal eyes found Morgan’s own.

    “That’s enough.” They were two practiced words, used between the two of them like a promise throughout the years.

  Kaidyn obeyed instantly. Looking back at Benjamin begrudgingly— at least that’s what Morgan guessed he did— Kaidyn moved to stand by Morgan’s side. Being a massive supernatural bear, even on all fours he came up to Morgan’s ears; standing, he’d tower over him.

 

  Benjamin’s big, doe-blue eyes narrowed, the irises beginning to glow a faint red as they slowly became slivers. Morgan willed his own eyes to stay the same, though he didn’t have much hope in the state he was in.

  But Benjamin didn’t seem to notice. He just seemed royally pissed-off.

    “How _dare_ you! I was playing with him!”

    “Mr. Bear’s tired now,” Morgan said, his voice slow and loud.

    “He can have time to be tired when he’s _dead…!”_

  Morgan felt Kaidyn growl behind him faintly. He shook his head gently as he glanced back.

    “Let me take care of this,” he whispered as quietly as he thought he needed for Benjamin not to hear. He turned back to the smaller vampire with a forced smile. “How about you and me, huh, little guy?”

  Benjamin actually laughed. Morgan guessed his will to hide his powers had actually worked somehow. “ _Boooring!_ Where’s the fun in fighting a shitty-old-human? They’re only good for… blood bags!”

  Morgan sighed, feigning exasperation. “That’s… that’s species-ist.”

    “Do the shitty-humans care if it’s ‘species-ist’ when they eat cows?!”

    “Don’t get into that age-old argument, little guy. _That_ horse’s been beaten enough,” Morgan groaned.

    “Yeah, because it’s _true._ It’s simply _evolution—_ ”

  Morgan groaned again, long and loudly as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Stop it, please; I’m not getting into this right now; my stomach’s killing me. Me and my—” Morgan hesitated as he glanced around at his panting best friend/bear and the shell-shocked Bronco listlessly clutching his gun to his chest and all but cowering in the corner, “— pals have come to stop you from killing our friends _._ ” All casualty gone, Morgan narrowed his eyes coldly at the vampire child. Benjamin smiled cruelly, his expression one a child would never be capable of.

 

    “See, they’re already dead,” he said cruelly. “I hunted _each_ and _every one_ of them down. Toronto was nice enough to dim the lights for me, make it a more fun hunt.” His voice was no longer that of a child; though it still carried the bell-like tone, he spoke with the years and experience of an adult. “Oh, how they _screamed…”_

  Morgan squeezed his hand into a fist, his iron-hard nails digging into his skin, nearly drawing blood. He struggled to control himself as Benjamin continued, “Can you imagine what it’s like, to take the life away from a person? To tear into their flesh like it was tissue paper, to hear their screams of agony and taste it on your tongue? No, I suppose you’d have no idea of the delights in it.”

  Morgan was shivering now, gooseflesh rippling down his neck and back like a great invisible hand tracing their finger down his spine. He _could_ imagine; _could_ taste it on his tongue; he was tasting it now, and in the back of his mind, _it was_ _wonderful._

“I’m surprised you haven’t run away yet; not many had the same chance as you have. Human sympathy is such a ridiculous thing, don’t you think?”

  His body was hot, more feverish than it had been since the day he was turned. Tendrils of fire danced across his skin; his veins hummed with the pulse of lava. He was on _fire;_ couldn’t someone tell?

 

  No one could tell, Morgan realised, as Benjamin only continued to chatter heedless of the blazing inferno lying just beneath Morgan’s skin.

    “And you know what? I won’t let you get away. Not that you really had a chance; I want to take my time killing each one of you; you who thought they could stop me.

    “Hmm, who should I start with?” Benjamin began to pace, his forefinger to his lips like he were contemplating a math problem. “What about the bear, hmm? I could skin him alive and make a nice rug! I wonder what bear meat tastes like… Ugh, probably gross! And I’ll make _you—”_ he pointed at Morgan, “—watch.”

 

  Morgan snapped.

It was all he could do not to move, only clenching his ridged muscles as the vampire droned on. He couldn’t take it anymore; he wanted the kid _dead._

  Faster than even _he_ thought he could move, Morgan burst forward and punched the other vampire square in the nose.


	21. Have You Ever Just... Wanted to Punch a Kid in the Face So Bad?

 

  Benjamin went flying.

Morgan hadn’t really had practice with his vampire strength; he had no idea how much power to put into a punch. This was pretty evident in that Benjamin ploughed through the corpses behind him, then _kept going._ First through one hedge of shelves, then out through the other, then out through another. Morgan heard the distant _wham_ as the small rag doll body ploughed through not one, but _four_ sets of shelves and slammed into the fifth.

  Kaidyn growled appreciatively behind him.

Morgan blinked several times, his hand still a fist in the air. He slowly let it drop like he was lowering the barrel of a gun.

  Silence.

There was absolutely no sound in the warehouse; just the heavy panting of Kaidyn and the breathless, near-hyperventilation of Bronco. Morgan could hear nothing of the vampire child. The three waited several moments, ears pricked for signs of life.

    _It couldn’t’ve been_ that _easy,_ Morgan thought.

 

    _“What the fuck was that?!”_

  A sound like splintering wood and crumbling planks suddenly tumbled in the distance, followed by the sound of someone swiping their clothes. The trio flinched as footsteps began to echo from within the darkness of the shelves.

    “Wow…” Benjamin whistled. Morgan could hear him stepping through every hole he’d been thrown through, sometimes pausing to admire Morgan’s handy work. After several moments of muttered _‘ooo’_ s and _‘ahh’s_ , Benjamin finally stepped through the first hole he’d gone through. Morgan groaned inwardly.

  Other than his ruined clothes—which weren’t doing so well to begin with—there wasn’t a scratch on the vampire’s body.

    _What’ll it take…?_

   

    “Do you want to explain, or what?” Benjamin looked each of the trio in the eyes in turn.

 No one answered.

  Morgan glanced back at Kaidyn. The bear shrugged.

    “No?” The vampire focused his attention on Morgan. He shivered at those eyes, irises burning red-gold, like they were lit from a fire within. “What _are_ you, really?”

  Morgan’s mind raced, searching desperately for a lie. “Nothing special.” Each time he took a breath, his vision sharpened and swam red, his nostrils burning. “Just a gang boss’ son.”

    “Oh? You’re… _Killian’s_ son?”

  Morgan didn’t answer, but that was answer enough. Benjamin grinned wide.

    “What would it be like to bring Killian his son’s head, I wonder? Can you imagine the expression he’ll make? Before I kill him myself, anyway.” The vampire seemed to shiver with excitement.

    _Wouldn’t you like to know,_ Morgan thought angrily. Instead, he said nothing. The cogs were still turning; he was still trying to figure out how to deal with Benjamin. He didn’t know his own limits, and he certainly didn’t know the other vampire’s. Was he able to punch him so easily because the kid was caught off guard, or because he was simply that strong? Would he be able to do it again? Could he kill him?

  Benjamin sobered for a moment; his emotions seemed to fluctuate like the wind. Now he was beginning to look pissed-off. “How did you do that?”

    “…Bionic arms?” Morgan said, more like a question than an answer as he shrugged.

  Benjamin frowned further. “Fuck you. You’re pissing me off; tell me how you did that, or I’m going to tear the arm you punched me with right off.”

  Morgan wondered in the back of his mind whether his arm would regrow itself, or if he’d need to reattach it. Benjamin didn’t wait for an answer.

  Sprinting forward at a near-blur, fierce, iron-hard nails scythed across Morgan’s arm…

    … And stopped just before they touched the skin.

 

  Morgan had seen it, seen the muscles and sinews in Benjamin’s tiny body tense just before he’d leapt forward, seen the path he would take, followed his predatory gaze. He’d seen those claws swipe at his arm. Morgan deftly turned to the side and caught that tiny wrist and held it. Benjamin was, understandably, shocked.

    “W-What?” He glanced at Morgan, his brows furrowed in panic before he hastily schooled his features into a cold frown. “‘Bionic arms’ my ass. Unless you have bionic eyes too, there’s no way you could’ve seen me move. Are those glasses just for show?” Benjamin wrenched his arm free from Morgan’s grip. Morgan let him go, though he could’ve tightened his grip if he’d wanted.

    “Yep.” There was _no way_ he’d admit to being a blind vampire.

  Benjamin appraised Morgan up and down, as though noticing him for the first time. Then he yawned.

    “Well, whatever. I don’t care anymore; I’m tired. I’ve been killing your guys all day. I think I deserve a nap.” His voice returned to a child’s, though he was still frowning. “I think I’m gonna’ kill you three and call it a day.”

 

  Benjamin sprinted forward and plunged a clawed hand into Morgan’s gut.


	22. Edward Eat Your Heart Out (if it Were Still Beating)

****

    _Oh._

  Blood sprayed from between his teeth as Benjamin wrenched his hand free. Morgan fell to his knees, cupping his bleeding stomach. A terrible pain blossomed across his gut, like Benjamin had a bat and was striking him over and over. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to move; _everything_ was in pain.

  Morgan only managed to stammer, “You little cunt” before he clenched his mouth closed. He glared at the vampire as he blinked away tears. Benjamin licked his hand. His eyes widened.

    “Oh _wow…!_ This is— this tastes amazing…! I’ve never—”

  The blood pooling along Benjamin’s hand began to steam, the liquid evaporating quickly and aggressively into the air. The vampire yelped as he vigorously shook his hand. He needn’t have bothered; within seconds, the steam cleared. The blood was gone.

  A searing heat pulsed against Morgan’s gut, like a fire burning beneath his palm. He grimaced, but relief washed over him as the heat seared away the pain of the hole in gut. A spurt of steam slipped from between his fingers, then the heat, and the hole in his gut, was gone.

  It was Morgan’s turn to smile.

    “Bet you weren’t expecting that. Neither was I—”

  He doubled over as an intense yearning ground his intestines into mincemeat. The air was supercharged with the remnants of steam and the scent of blood, making it hard for Morgan to concentrate. Incapacitated as he was, Benjamin quickly grabbed Morgan’s neck, hefting him impossibly into the air. Morgan was a giant compared to the vampire child; he was only able to lift him to his knees.

    “Stop fucking with me. _What. Are. You?!”_

  Benjamin squeezed, his tiny hands crushing Morgan’s windpipe into nothing. He let out a strangled cry, the only sound he could manage.

    _How did I manage to punch this kid through walls…?_

    _“What are y_ —”

 

  _Bang, bang!_

  Benjamin paused, his mouth open in surprise, as two shots echoed out from behind him. He let Morgan go, crumpling to the ground with a cough as he clutched his ruined neck. Heat blossomed beneath his fingers as the wound quickly healed.

    “What the fuck…?” Benjamin turned around slowly, more shocked than in pain. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Morgan realised Bronco had finally fired his gun. He stood just behind Benjamin, the smoking barrel of the pistol shaking in his grip. The man, whom Morgan had on very few occasion seen shaken, was absolutely terrified.

    “I-I won’t let you hurt him. He’s my responsibility…!”

  Bronco let off a couple more shots, but Benjamin only stood there, taking each one, his tiny child’s body only swaying slightly from the force. Morgan was reminded of Roman, the first vampire he’d seen do the same. He had the feeling that Roman was a weaker vampire in comparison to Benjamin, but if Roman was able to take bullets at point-blank without faltering, imagine what Benjamin was capable of.

  Benjamin clicked his tongue as Bronco pulled the trigger, the empty cartridge sending a desolate _click_ around the warehouse. He was out of bullets, and Benjamin was pissed.

    _He’ll kill him,_ Morgan panicked. _He’ll make it hurt, I know he will._

Gentle tinkling of metal began to fall from where Benjamin stood, the bullets in his body making their way out as he healed. Morgan was once again painfully reminded of the capabilities of the _Vorvintti._

    _I can’t kill them on my own,_ he thought as Benjamin took another step, and Bronco took one back in return. _I need a way to kill them all._

  As Benjamin slowly closed the distance between him and his prey, it finally came to him.

    _I need the Chrysalis…_

_…I need to find Rafaella._

He slowly got to his feet, not drawing attention to himself. He doubted Benjamin hadn’t noticed, but he seemed pissed enough at Bronco that he wouldn’t stop.

  Morgan’s head buzzed, his body electrified and on fire all at once. With each breath, he noticed a puff of steam escaping his lips.

 

     _I’ll make him talk I’ll—_

 _I’m gonna’ kill him, gonna’ kill him, gonna’ tear out his_ bones…!

    _Need to find Rafaella, find the Chrysalis. He must know_ where—

    _It hurt a bit, it_ hurt! _Those were bullets,_ bullets _under the skin, under his skin…? Yes, his_ skin—

    _Wait that’s— No, that’s not my—_

 _Blood, blood, blood, blood…! So_ loud, _so_ hungry— _always hungry. I’ll kill him, then that other_ freak _—_

_These aren’t… they’re not—_

  Morgan fell to his knees clutching his head, a pained groaned escaping his lips before he could help it.

    “Sh-sh-shut up!” he screamed. “Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up! They’re not mine! Not mine, I wouldn’t… Maybe?” He patted his chest, searching for imaginary wounds that weren’t there. “No, no yeah, not me, not mine. But the _hunger…? That’s_ mine? I don’t want, don’t want it! Please don’t…”

  Benjamin turned around sharply.

 

 

    “What did you say?” Benjamin asked as he moved to stand over him.

    “—you say?” Morgan echoed. He shook his head several times then groaned. “G-get out!” he stammered. “Get out of my head…!”

  Benjamin cocked his head to the side, like a puppy trying to comprehend what it was hearing. “I’m not _in_ your head. I don’t have that kind of…”

  Benjamin sucked in a breath as realisation dawned.

 

    “It can’t be… but I should’ve known, should’ve _smelled_ it…!

    “You’re a vampire. _”_


	23. First-Ancestor? Sounds Intimidating... I'm in.

****

  What he was looking at was impossible, but even _he_ couldn’t deny it.

However it had happened, Benjamin was looking down at a kneeling vampire— one with aggressive healing capabilities, strength possibly stronger than his own, and some innate form of telepathy that he couldn’t yet control. He had no idea how the boy— man? He didn’t seem too old, but he was a giant of a guy— had been able to stay sane with the bodies surrounding them, _if_ indeed he was a vampire. Benjamin had _years_ of experience under his belt to get used to it; despite his appearance—which was both a bane and a boon— he was more than three hundred years old. New vampires were notorious for the lack of inhibitions, but he couldn’t possibly be a _Vorvintti_ sireling. _Vorvintti_ didn’t sire, period. Something else, then; there were hundreds out there, after all.

  Benjamin’s thoughts passed from one to the next with supernatural speed, which seemed to disorient the young vampire kneeling in front of him.

 

    “Old? So old, I’m so old. No, wait. Too young, too young. _Vorvintti?_ No. Yes. No? Yes!” He was nodding and shaking his head so vigorously it was like he was having a very heated discussion with himself. Which he was in a way, Benjamin realised. This could be fun. He attempted to calm his mind as best he could, the easier it would be to get the young vampire back into clarity before he talked to him. He had questions he wanted answering.

 

    “What’s wrong with him…?” he distantly heard the human who had shot him ask to no one in particular. Benjamin felt obliged to answer, even if— _especially_ if—the answer was a cruel one.

    “He can read minds. Telepathy.” He listened carefully as the other vampire echoed the last few words he’d said.

    _He’s only half in. He’s trying not to listen. Interesting._

    “… But he can’t control it. He just might be… on the verge of losing his mind.” Benjamin said it with a smile. He _was_ ecstatic; vampires driven into insanity were his favourite, after all.

    “Losing his mind…?” the human whispered. The massive grizzly behind the three of them— whom Benjamin was seriously considering bringing home with him— growled. To everyone’s surprise, the young vampire turned to look directly at the bear.

    “—help him.” The vampire seemed to echo. “D-don’t let him… go.” That was all he seemed capable of; he clutched his head once again as he hissed between his teeth in pain. Benjamin did a cursory glance of the young vampire, whom he was _also_ considering taking home with him. It’d be a great two-for-one deal.

  The vampire wasn’t overly pale, so either he wasn’t burnt by sunlight, or he was turned fairly recently. The vampire had said it himself that the glasses were just an accessory, but Benjamin had a knack for knowing when someone was lying to him, vampire or otherwise. He had no wounds and his blood had evaporated into steam, or had gone _back into_ the boy’s body. Finally, and most noticeably, he had a pulse, and that pulse pumped blood sporadically through dark, nearly black veins that stood out in sharp-relief against his skin, similar to Benjamin’s own. Benjamin frowned.

  Vampire species with beating hearts were rare. As far as pulses go, the _Vorvintti_ were renowned for having still-beating hearts, turned or otherwise. Only _Vorvintti_ progenitors had non-beating hearts; no one, not even themselves, quite knew where they had come from.

  What were the chances of _two_ different vampire clans being involved with the Akatsuki gang?

    _Oops._

Too late, Benjamin realised his mistake in thinking too hard. The kid was back muttering violently to himself in a puddle of blood on the ground, clutching his head and shaking as he struggled to keep up with Benjamin’s thoughts.

    _Oh, how I want to taste his blood again…! The blood of a vampire with a still-beating heart is something else…_ Benjamin smiled wide at the thought, absentmindedly licking his lips.

  The sireling stopped shaking.

    _But I’ll have to be careful; I’ll bite him directly, so it won’t heal… I’ll leave him alive, so I can—_

  Benjamin stopped his rampant thoughts as the sireling now clutched at his stomach, his body tensed to the limit.

    “It… hurts,” the young vampire ground out between his teeth.

    “I know.” Benjamin answered as he imagined what it would be like to pin the sireling to the floor, to pierce his neck—

 

  Quicker than Benjamin thought possible, the young vampire was on his feet, all pain forgotten. In the span of a few milliseconds, with blurred fluidity between one movement and the next, the sireling leapt— more like overwhelmed with height— at Benjamin, pushing him over onto his back with his greater size and pining him to the bloody ground.

  His skin was boiling hot; Benjamin could hardly handle it.

 

  With searing hot fangs, the sireling tore into Benjamin’s tiny throat.

 

***

 

  Every gulp of blood brought with it a moment of startling clarity.

He had been in a horrible daze, he realised. He could barely remember what had happened; thoughts that weren’t his own had taken him over, driving him mad as they clashed with his own. They still swam in his head, but they were background noise, distant; a low chatter he could drown out to the point where he could no longer hear it at all. With each gulp his breathing grew easier, his mind cleared, his tolerance for the bloody massacre around him grew stronger until it barely bothered him at all.

  It had taken the blood of another _Vorvintti,_ but Morgan was finally beginning to become his old self.

 

  Nearly.

 

  It was incredibly difficult to stop.

He’d thought human blood was great; it didn’t hold a _candle_ to pure vampire blood. He gulped it down greedily, like he’d been starved for weeks rather than days. He paid no attention to the people around him, to the vampire child that lay still beneath him. He’d turned their thoughts off as easily as turning off a television. He was in control now.

    _…Morgan!_

  He ignored it as he continued to drink. This was much too important to interrupt.

    _Morg you asshole I know you can hear me…!_

  With a click of his tongue, Morgan slowly drew his lips away from the other vampire’s mottled neck. Benjamin’s eyes were closed, his breathing shallow, but he was alive. For now.

    _Good,_ the voice said. _You need him alive._

  Morgan glanced at where he guessed the voice was coming from as he kept a firm grip on Benjamin’s shoulders. He couldn’t explain it exactly, but he could tell who the mental voice belonged to not by the tone, but by the _feeling_ he got from it.

    _Why?_ Morgan asked in his head.

  When Kaidyn didn’t reply, Morgan realised his mind-reading was a one-way experience.

    “Why?” he said aloud instead.

  Both Bronco and Kaidyn-the-Bear stood stock still.

    “…What?” Morgan asked uneasily as he glanced between the two of them.

    “You’re… back to normal?” Bronco stammered in disbelief.

    _You’re okay?_ Kaidyn asked. A feeling of unease rested in Morgan’s stomach as he tasted their fear and confusion, felt it in Kaidyn’s thoughts.

“That was… I’m— I’m fine now. I swear. For the most part.”

    _‘For the most part’? That’s not very reassuring._

    “I swear I’m—”

 

  He stopped as Benjamin began to cough beneath him. The other vampire took ragged breaths in through his ruined windpipe as he said, “I didn’t e-expect _that._ That was my… mistake.” Morgan ignored him as he remembered that Kaidyn said he needed the vampire alive.

    “You didn’t answer before,” he began as he turned back to the grizzly. “Why do we need him alive again?”

  He didn’t see him do it physically, but Morgan could almost feel Kaidyn sigh mentally.

    _You need information from him, right?_

  There goes Kaidyn, Morgan thought. Always knowing what’s best even when Morgan hadn’t explained the whole situation just yet. He was a chill guy like that. Morgan nodded as he focused his attention back to the other vampire.

  He was acutely aware of his limbs, his muscles, and what they were capable of. His head was clear, as was what he believed his limits were. Morgan couldn’t believe just how much control he’d gained from a few gulps of the vampire’s blood. He wondered briefly why Riei’s blood hadn’t done the same.

    “I need to know where Rafaella is.”

 

  Benjamin slipped out a childish giggle that turned into a gurgle.

    “So what, you can have your gang crushed for a _second_ time? Why are you all so eager to die?” He tried to wriggle out of Morgan’s grip, but it was much too strong for the now weakened vampire. Morgan couldn’t get a good enough read on the child’s thoughts to try and cheat his way into learning Rafaella’s location; the vampire’s mind was a twisted thing.

  Morgan shuddered at the memory of getting lost in that convoluted maze. It wasn’t what the vampire was immediately thinking that got to him— it was his grotesque _memories._ The emotions behind it all.

    “Tell me where she is!” he growled as he shook the little vampire’s shoulders. Benjamin let out another ridiculous giggle. His throat was healing a lot slower than any of Morgan’s wounds, he noted. And without all the steam, too.

    “Fuck you! This is too _fun,_ why would I tell you and spoil it?” His throat was nearly completely healed, his voice coming out stronger and stronger with every breath.

    “You think this is all about fun?!” Morgan shook the vampire harder, but he only continued to giggle. “My people _died_ because of you assholes! And you think this is _fun?_ Fuck you, you little. Piece. Of. Shit!” Morgan punctuated every word with a violent shake that cracked the back of Benjamin’s head against the concrete below. Even this didn’t seem to faze the older vampire; he laughed louder and harder, almost back to the hysterical laughter he’d been doing when he was torturing Akatsuki. If Morgan had done that to a regular human, no doubt in his mind that that human would be dead on the first hit.

  As it was, Benjamin wasn’t even a regular vampire; though his throat had healed he continued to laugh, barely trying to break free of Morgan’s grip.

    “You’ll have to play with me first!” he giggled.

  Morgan was getting tired of games. He pulled back his arm, ready to give another punch to the kid’s nose. Kaidyn growled loudly behind him, the grizzly’s voice so sonorous Morgan felt it in the ground and through his spine.

    _Don’t. You need him to find someone._

  Morgan sighed at the voice of reason, slowly lowering his arm.

    “You’re right,” he sighed.

  It was after several seconds he realised Benjamin wasn’t laughing anymore.

 

  He turned back to the kid, expecting him to be grinning with some nefarious secret plot, or looking bored or pissed-off.

  What he _wasn’t_ expecting was the look of confusion that nearly bordered on fear.

 

    “Y-y-you can’t be!” Benjamin stammered as he reared back out of Morgan’s grip. “That isn’t possible, that’s not right! But I’ve never seen you before— there’s no doubt you’re new, with that whole mind-reading bullshit. But that _can’t_ be; they don’t sire, they simply don’t…!” For greater effect, the older vampire shuffled back, nearly bumping into Bronco’s feet. Bronco leapt back in turn, his fear nearly as strong as Benjamin’s. A smile tugged at Morgan’s lips.

    _He’s finally realised. What gave me away?_

  He voiced this final thought out loud.

    “The eyes; it’s always the eyes,” Benjamin answered, strangely obedient. “Like mine, they’re like mine. It’s like a fire, the redness. Like we’re on fire on the inside, that’s what they say…” On the fringes of his mental awareness, Morgan felt that Benjamin was very near the brink of breaking. His mind was so unstable, Morgan thought, that he was viable to break just as equally as he was viable to stay sane and break someone else. It was a sad and frightful thing.

    “Was it her? Was it Rafaella? Is that why you’re looking for her?”

  Morgan nodded.

  Benjamin whimpered in response. “She wouldn’t, she wouldn’t; she would _never_ sire. She hasn’t sired in the three hundred years I’ve been alive. Why _now?_ Why _you?_ ”

  Morgan couldn’t answer that. He didn’t even know himself.

    “I don’t know,” he answered. “But I intend to find out.”

    “I’m a fucking idiot,” Benjamin continued like he hadn’t heard Morgan’s reply. “Picking a fight with a first-ancestor. Dumb, dumb, stupid, stupid!” He slapped himself several times on the forehead. Morgan felt that the vampire teetered not only on the edge of sanity and insanity, but on the edge of adult and child as well. “And from Rafaella’s line, no less! Could’ve burnt me, could’ve burnt me _alive—”_

    “What?” Morgan interrupted the vampire’s rambling. “‘Burnt me alive’? How? What does that mean?” He stepped forward, and Benjamin shuffled back.

    “I don’t want to burn!”

 

  Images flashed dizzyingly in Morgan’s mind as Benjamin’s loud thoughts broke through his consciousness: here, Rafaella gouging out the eyes of another vampire with her thumbs, a plume of steam erupting from the man’s sockets as he screamed; another in which Rafaella had her palm across a human’s face, the face mottled and burning; Rafaella slicing through the neck of someone like butter, human or vampire Morgan couldn’t tell, her skin instantly cauterizing the wounds. They were all like that; Rafaella using this strange power to kill, maim or torture her enemies in sickening ways. Morgan nearly gagged at the nauseating rush of images, each more gruesome than the last. He struggled to get a clamp down on his thoughts, stop the torrent of alien images that invaded his mind.

    “Alright! I won’t ‘burn’ you, I swear!” He took several steps back from the older vampire, who was on his butt whimpering and pleading. It was a strangely pitiful sight; this vampire who, not until ten minutes ago was revelling in the pain and torture of others, now whimpering pathetically in a cradle of the very corpses he’d killed. Morgan was painfully reminded of the twins who had feared him the very same way. He wondered just who Rafaella was exactly, and how she was able to evoke pure fear just at the very mention of her name. _That_ was the person he’d need to confront at the end of all of this, he realised.

  With Benjamin cowering the way he was, Morgan’s brain began to whir to life.

    _I can use this._

    “I won’t burn you, but I _am_ Rafaella’s first-ancestor— her sireling. I could kill you just as easily as she would.” He _seriously_ doubted that, but meh, whatever works. Benjamin whimpered. “But I won’t, for a price.”

    “Anything…!”

    “I need you to tell me where she is. I need to… have a chat with my sire.”

  Benjamin was whimpering so violently Morgan worried if he was having a fit. There was nothing left of the monster from before; no line between the adult and the child, the insanity and the sanity.

  He shook his head several times as he answered, “I can’t, I can’t! I don’t know, _please;_ I don’t know!”

  Morgan clicked his tongue. From the cacophony of the older vampire’s thoughts that he _could_ make out, it seemed like the child really didn’t know. But there was something else… floating just beneath the surface.

    “Are you sure?” Morgan prompted. Benjamin was on the verge of tears. “There really isn’t anything, or _anyone_ you might be forgetting?”

  He let the question sink in, let Benjamin ponder over it. It took him several moments, but finally the vampire seemed to stop shivering as he remembered.

    “Y-yes! Her lieutenant, her second-in-command, Megan! She’ll know where the progenitor is; if someone wants to get in contact with Rafaella, they go to her!” Benjamin was almost eager to give away the information. Morgan pondered the name; he’d heard it somewhere before…

    “Hmm… Purple bangs? Kind of cold… bit a bitch?”

  Benjamin eagerly nodded his assent. “That’s the one!”

    “Where can I find her?” The vampire grew sombre once again, his body shaking slightly. _This_ was information he wasn’t so eager to admit. “I _could_ just burn you and get the information that way—”

    “No, no! I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you! Nineteenth precinct, above the Amaranth Hotel, one hundred and twentieth floor, the penthouse—”

    “She lives on top of a casino?”

    “Easier to find people to feed from.”

    “It’s the penthouse of a _casino!”_

  Benjamin shrugged.

 

  Morgan stood.

He had a better goal now, a more sure-fire way to find Rafaella, and by extension, the Chrysalis. A brief foray into crazy-town and Morgan figured Benjamin wasn’t lying about the penthouse. Benjamin whimpered as he stood, but Morgan ignored him. He wasn’t interested in the vampire anymore. Or was he?

    “What are you?” he asked the older vampire.

  Benjamin paled. “W-What do you mean?”

    “You were bor—” he stopped as he remembered the promise he made to the twins “—were you turned, or born, or whatever?”

    “Oh… I was born, of course. Between two vampires.”

    “And they’re from different… clans? Compared to Rafaella?”

  Benjamin relaxed a little. “You really don’t know… We’re all _Vorvintti;_ that’s just the name of the species. But we have families and abilities u-unique to each other, just like any other. It’s just that Rafaella is one of the… strongest and oldest.”

  Morgan nodded, satisfied for the moment.

    “So if Raf— _we_ can burn, what can you do?”

    “Nothing. Only progenitors and direct ancestors have their own abilities.”

    “That’s a bummer.”

Benjamin nodded then flinched as Morgan stepped closer. He reached down his arm. Benjamin seemed terribly reluctant, but he took Morgan’s arm, and Morgan hoisted him gently to his feet.

    _You should kill him now,_ Kaidyn supplied as he padded forward to stand by Morgan’s side.

    “Nah.”

    _He killed nearly everyone in this building, single-handed._

“I know. I’m not forgiving him for that. I just think it’d be a waste.”

    _A waste to save the lives of hundreds more people he’d likely torture or kill?_

  Morgan turned his full attention on his best friend. He glanced at Benjamin, then turned back to Kaidyn, speaking in a near-whisper the other vampire was more than likely to hear:

    “Look, we could use him in the future. At first, yeah, I wanted to kill him. But killing him doesn’t bring everyone else back, and it doesn’t solve the problems we have ahead of us.”

    _Morgan, don’t be a soft-hearted idiot; you’ve killed plenty of guys before—_

“That isn’t the problem here! You don’t get it; you weren’t in his head like I was. I _was_ him, very briefly. It was hell, sure, but it was a… a, I dunno, a _rich_ hell. You can’t kill three hundred years of history like—”

    _But you plan on killing Rafaella._

    “… That’s different. That’s… personal.”

    _And him killing hundreds of your men, just like her, isn’t? Don’t bullshit me, Morg._

  Morgan had run out of excuses.

    “… Don’t make me kill a kid, Kai,” he whispered softly.

  Kaidyn paused. Then answered angrily, _But he_ isn’t _a kid! That’s the whole point of these monsters; he lives forever like that!_

    “I can’t kill someone begging for their life. Rafaella never begged.”

    _… You’re an idiot. Fuck this; do what you want. When you_ do _have to kill him, which you probably will, don’t come crying to me._

 

  With that, the grizzly turned— teetered, more like— on his paw/heel and went to sit in front of the shutter door. With a sigh Morgan turned to Benjamin.

    “You’re free to go. Just don’t kill anyone on your way. Exit’s to your left, if you’ll follow the sign…”

    “… That’s it?” Benjamin asked, incredulous.

    “What’s it?”

    “You’re not going to… imprison me, torture me? I killed so many of your men, _tortured_ them, and you’re just letting me go?”

  Morgan had one bewildering second where he thought, _Oh, I change my mind; I’m going to kill you now!_ and charged at the vampire and tore out his heart. He shook the thought free; it was probably someone else’s, anyway.

    “You’re pushing it. Yes, I’m letting you go. But in exchange, I guess you owe me.”

  Benjamin nodded eagerly. “Sure, sure! Anything to stay alive.” He giggled nervously. He took out an old-fashioned smartphone, something rarely seen in Jotai nowadays, and looked expectantly at Morgan.

    “What?”

    “I’ll give you my contact details!”

    _What breed of idiot is this kid?_ Morgan heard Kaidyn think to himself angrily. It seemed as though he could even snoop on other people’s thoughts without them noticing.

    “Oh. I don’t have a phone. Accidently smashed it. Vampire strength, y’know.”

  Benjamin nodded, too eager. Morgan didn’t know if he’d lost it completely, or he had some nefarious plan up his sleeve.

    Somewhat hesitantly, he turned to Bronco, “Could you…?”

  Bronco nodded as he awkwardly swiped his Glass from his back pocket. He seemed distant, shocked, and surprised at finally being given something substantial to do. Bronco and Benjamin exchanged contact details, Bronco with a slightly shaking hand and Benjamin a little overeager, and parted ways.

    “That’s it then,” Morgan said. “You’re free to leave.”

    “Thank you. Thanks for sparing me. You won’t regret it, I swear!” The older— now seemingly _younger—_ vampire actually waved at Morgan before he exited stage left.

    “That was bizarre,” Morgan said, more to himself than anyone else.

    _No shit,_ Kaidyn muttered distantly, still bitter.

  Bronco nodded.


	24. Sorry, I'm a Crappy Friend

****

**** _He stepped over the woman, barely careful not to trip on her crumpled form. Walking slowly, listlessly, he enjoyed the warm summer breeze that ruffled gently through his hair from the open doors of the ballroom. A full blood-red moon shimmered over Jotai City, a great round disk illuminating the white marble of the courtyard. He stepped over yet another corpse and continued, keeping his prey trapped in his hypnotic gaze. He licked his lips as he heard the prey’s heartbeat, fast and erratic like a hummingbird; he sighed to the rhythm. The prey shuffled back until they hit the balcony behind them. It looked back desperately onto the glittering city far below, eyes widened in fear. There was nowhere for it to run. He gazed into his prey’s widened green eyes, willing them to calm down, to lose themselves in his own gaze. They did; slowly the prey’s expression slackened, its body relaxed._

_He was so close, so very close… He stepped around yet another corpse, remembering the taste of the dead prey’s blood as he killed it. It electrified his blood with excitement at the prospect of killing once more. He took his prey gently into his arms; the prey went willingly, too mesmerised to make as much as a sound, going so far as to bare its own neck._

_Biting into the soft flesh, he drank deeply, draining every drop from the tiny body in quick, heated gulps. All too soon, the body grew cold, the jackrabbit heartbeat slowed to a crawl. With an empty yearning taking place of his terrible hunger, he let the body drop to the ground._

_Several seconds ticked by as he wiped his mouth, the hunger slowly being replaced by recognition. He glanced around the wide open balcony, at the massacre of bodies mangled and devoured, as though from some great, merciless beast. He looked on with horror at the blood staining his hands, staining the white marble around him._

_Finally, with a strangled cry, Morgan noticed the corpse lying at his feet._

_It was Erin._

***

 

    With a terribly startled cry, the figure from beneath the blankets leaped up from the bed, sheets a tangled mess around his panting form.

  Kaidyn had heard stories that waking someone from a nightmare was a bad thing, or something like that… might it have been sleepwalkers? But he couldn’t let Morgan continue to cry in his sleep like a little kid; he’d never heard Morgan _whimper_ before. And he didn’t want to hear it again.

 

    “…Morgan?” he said gently. Morgan was notoriously cranky just after waking up; imagine what he’d be like as a vampire being woken during the day.

  Morgan blinked several times through heavy lidded eyes, red-tinged pupils dilated and unfocused. Kaidyn noticed that his eyes were especially dark-circled; it looked like he hadn’t slept in days. To add to his worry, the normally—at least Kaidyn _thought_ it was normal for a vampire— black veins at his temples and on his pale eyelids were an odd, washed-out reddish-orange colour, nearly like his pupils. He didn’t think that was even _remotely_ healthy.

  Morgan sniffed, blowing air at his crow’s nest of bedhead. It didn’t help.

    “Kai?” he croaked, looking in the vague direction of where Kaidyn was standing.

    “The one and only.” Kaidyn sat on the edge of the bed, far enough not to disturb Morgan, but close enough that he could get a closer look at Morgan’s face. “Haven’t heard from you for a while.”

  Morgan grunted. He flopped back down onto his pillow, breathing a little too heavily through dry lips. “Your dad’s worried,” Kaidyn continued. “He says you… haven’t been out of your room for a few days.”

  Morgan didn’t answer. After several silent seconds, Kaidyn thought he’d fallen back to sleep before he said, “Yeah.” It was barely above a whisper.

    “…Yeah what? Morg, you have to get out of the house sometime. You can’t just sit here.”

    “Watch me.” Morgan croaked, taking the blanket and wrenching it over himself as he violently twisted away to face the wall. Kaidyn sighed.

    “…What’s this about, Morg? You’re not usually this… teenagery. Legally we’re adults, y’know.”

  Morgan grunted another reply, this time angrily. Kaidyn waited through several moments of silence before continuing. “Erin’s worried.”

  It wasn’t the right thing to say; Morgan tensed up immediately, his breath catching. Kaidyn hated to play the baby-brother card, but he’d run out of ideas. He’d never seen Morgan so irritable. Kaidyn waited once again—he was patient when it came to Morgan’s temper— until the form beneath the blankets seemed to relax once again.

  Okay, maybe he wasn’t _that_ patient when it came to angsty teenagers/adults. He leapt up from the bed, shaking the mattress, and went to stand over Morgan’s concealed form.

    “Wake… _up!”_ Gripping the edge of the blanket, Kaidyn yanked it from beneath Morgan’s fingers. For a second he honestly thought he wouldn’t be able to break Morgan’s vampire grip, but apparently Morgan wasn’t all there; the blanket came off easily, and Morgan groaned into the foetal position. Usually, at least whenever Kaidyn had happened to see, Morgan tended to sleep in just a t-shirt and shorts. This time round though, he was wearing the full set of pyjamas; long sleeved shirt and pants. He really seemed to be freezing.

    _What happened to the whole ‘burning’ thing?_ Kaidyn wondered idly.

  Morgan let out a long, continuous groan.

    “I don’t care,” Kaidyn answered. “Everyone’s worried about your dumb ass. We’re gonna’ get you something to eat.”

  That did the trick.

Morgan tensed once again, this time a little more sharply. His stomach let out a long, violent gurgle louder than his groaning.

    “See?” Kaidyn went to Morgan’s walk-in closet.

    _Rich people,_ he thought to himself as he pulled out a pair of jeans and a hoodie. He threw it at Morgan, who only groaned in response.

    “Get _up!_ Get up, get your ass up, c’mon. Put this on.” Like getting a kid ready for school, Morgan sat up slowly, groaning deplorably to himself the whole time. He was so out of it Kaidyn had to prompt him to take off his shirt. After several moments of Morgan struggling to unbutton his shirt, Kaidyn sighed.

    “Here.” Grabbing his glasses from his bedside table, Kaidyn slid them onto the bridge of Morgan’s nose.

    “Thanks.” Morgan said, barely more than a grunt.

  After an excruciatingly long time and about a million groans of differing variations, Kaidyn managed to have Morgan fully dressed and ready to go.

 

  Morgan swayed slightly on his feet as he leaned against the kitchen bench out in the hall.

    _Rich people!_ Kaidyn thought with exasperation. _He has his own floor, his own damn kitchen and he doesn’t even eat!_

  He stole a glance at the all but delirious Morgan, resisting the urge to feel his forehead for his temperature. He seriously wasn’t looking so good.

    “Do you want some water or something before we go?” It was like talking to a pre-schooler.

  Morgan actually nodded then turned back to the tap behind him and drank directly. Kaidyn puffed out his cheeks awkwardly as Morgan drank gulp after gulp. After what seemed like an eternity, he turned the tap off and turned back to Kaidyn, nodding.

  Kaidyn resisted the urge to say something sarcastic. “Alright, let’s go.”

 

  It was easy enough saying with confidence that he’d find Morgan something to eat. It was another thing entirely to actually find it, though.

  The pair wandered the 23rd precinct, Morgan’s neighbourhood. Morgan had his hood pulled up around his ears despite it being early evening, but Kaidyn didn’t complain. He was lucky to have him out of the house at all. He’d heard from Killian that over the past week Morgan’s mood had soured more and more every day. He was okay when the two had returned from that whole vampire debacle, but ever since then he’d grown more and more closed off as the days had gone by, to the point where in the last couple of days he’d refused to leave his room all together. Kaidyn had his suspicions that it was Morgan’s hunger catching up to him, but he didn’t want to think about it too hard. And he was reluctant to bring it up.

  The problem now though, was actually _finding_ something for him to eat. Or drink, whatever.

    _He ain’t getting my blood,_ Kaidyn thought.

    “Gross.” Morgan muttered beside him before glancing away absently.

    “Were you… _listening_ to me?” They were best friends sure, but Kaidyn didn’t exactly appreciate him having access to his thoughts all the time. _Especially_ if he found out that—

    “Sorry. Can’t help it sometimes; you’re loud.” He didn’t say it unkindly, simply matter-of-fact. It was the most he’d said all day. Kaidyn attempted to keep a lid on his thoughts.

    “…So my blood’s gross?”

  Morgan nodded, his eyes darkening, but said nothing. Kaidyn didn’t prompt him further as they continued.

  After walking around several blocks at a snail’s pace and finding nothing but small dingy grocery stores and about a million discount hundred-cen stores, Kaidyn was beginning to panic. They’d somehow wandered their way into the 21st precinct, and they’d found _nothing._ He was about to pull his hair out when Morgan stopped abruptly.

    “…What?” Kaidyn asked as he glanced back.

  Morgan didn’t answer, only closing his eyes and lifting his nose to the air. It was incredibly funny, and just a little cute. He was smiling up until the moment Morgan started walking brusquely, following whatever scent his nose had caught.

    “H-Hey! Morg! Wait up, where’re you going?”

  He didn’t have time to say anything else; apparently whatever scent he’d found was pretty strong, because he was all but running now. Kaidyn hurried to keep up.

  Kaidyn’s sense of smell wasn’t anything… to sniff at, being part-bear, but for the life of him he couldn’t smell whatever it was that had Morgan so enraptured. If he had to bet, he’d say that Morgan’s nose was a little more specialised than his, and he’d caught the scent of the one thing it was specialised for.

  Morgan led the two of them through several winding roads, leading them deeper into the city and into the 22nd precinct. Looking like he knew where he was going, he led them passed a deserted street with an inactive portal, down into a strangely underground arcade of shops. Most of the shops on the strip were beginning to close, being evening, but just one seemed to be a little more brightly lit and vibrant compared to the rest. It was at the front of this store that Morgan stopped. Kaidyn gazed up at the glowing sign hanging above them.

    “Night…mart…?” he said slowly.

  Before he could stop him, Morgan was already swinging open the glass door and stepping inside. Kaidyn muttered a complaint, but followed him in. He felt like he needed to supervise Morgan a little more than usual.

  A little bell tinkled behind them as the door closed, leaving them surrounded by shelves packed with various goods that Kaidyn didn’t look too closely at. His nose had finally caught up with Morgan’s, and he didn’t like what he smelled.

  To his left, a girl with ruby-red hair and mahogany skin sat at the store’s counter, absently reading a novel without looking up. After several awkward seconds of silence, Kaidyn glanced up at Morgan, then to the girl.

  Morgan was stock-still, probably too berated by smells to move or even form a sentence, like back at the warehouse, and the girl simply continued to ignore them. He cleared his throat as he stood in front of Morgan.

    “…Excuse me, Miss?” he said stiffly as he rested his hands on the counter. She looked up, her stormy-grey eyes irritated.

    “Yes? Can I help you?”

    “Ah yeah we, um, we err…”

  Her eyes slowly drifted over Kaidyn, then over Morgan, where they widened. Morgan looked at her, then glanced away quickly, hiding his eyes with his hood. Uh oh.

  Kaidyn cleared his throat once again, a little more forcefully this time. “Yeah so, we need some— some blood.”

  Several seconds of silence ensued. It was the most awkward several seconds of silence Kaidyn had ever endured, and he’d had to explain how he was part-bear before.

  The clerk seemed to be the first to come to her senses. “Well,” she said slowly. “You’ve come to the right place I suppose. It’s for _him,_ right?” As she stepped out from behind the counter, she indicated Morgan with a tilt of her chin.

    “Y-Yeah.” Kaidyn supplied as Morgan said nothing. Morgan wasn’t really the kind of person to let others speak on his behalf; he was getting seriously concerned. The clerk went to the line of freezers ranging along the walls, going all the way to the other end of the shop to the furthest fridge, Morgan and Kaidyn shuffling along awkwardly behind her. At least, Kaidyn felt awkward; Morgan walked with the strange grace of an animal, all exhaustion and absentmindedness forgotten. The girl peeked into the freezer, looking along the shelves until she found what she was looking for, then opened the door.

  To Kaidyn and Morgan’s surprise, she pulled out several hospital-looking blood packs, stacking them neatly in the crook of her arm like she was stacking frozen peas. She took out three, glanced back at Morgan, then took out another two, stacking them onto the teetering pile in her arms and letting the freezer door slam shut behind her.

    “Here you go,” she said as she proffered the packs to Kaidyn. “That’ll be thirteen thousand, five hundred cen.”

  Kaidyn actually felt his eyes bug out of his head. “W-w-what?! Thirteen thousand?!”

    “And five hundred cen. Yeah.”

  Without a word, as Kaidyn was too shocked to even move, Morgan took out his wallet and pulled out a translucent credit card, Jotai City’s most notorious indicator of the rich and privileged.

    “Do you take card?” was all he said in a monotone. The clerk nodded. The three went back to the counter, where the girl rang up the blood-packs and Morgan tapped his card against the reader on the counter, looking too distant and absentminded to even care about the price.

    _Rich. People._

  The clerk stacked the packs into a brown paper bag. She was about to hand the bag to Morgan, then thought better of it and handed it to Kaidyn instead. As Kaidyn started walking toward the exit, more than eager to be clear of the danger-zone, the clerk girl seemed to come to a decision.

    “Here,” she said as she grabbed a packet from a pile on the counter and threw it at Morgan. He caught it deftly as she said, “It’s on the house.”

  He glanced down at the pack in his hands. It seemed like an ordinary packet of lollipops, but Kaidyn guessed the red candy was blood flavoured.

    “Thanks…” Morgan said slowly. After a second, Morgan seemed to come to a decision of his own. “I didn’t pay for the door…”

    _Pay for_ what _door…?_ Kaidyn wondered.

    “Oh, don’t worry about it,” the clerk answered, a slight smile tugging at her lips. “I feel like you’ll be a returning customer.”

    “You’re probably right about that.” Morgan answered, his eyes softening.

    _Oh shit,_ Kaidyn moaned inwardly.

    “…My name’s… It’s Melanie.”

    “Morgan.”

  The two looked into each other’s eyes a beat too long, glancing away quickly. The girl, Melanie, actually blushed just slightly.

    “Okay, thanks for the help Melanie, I think we’ll be leaving now.” Kaidyn could barely conceal the irritation in his voice. Morgan seemed a little taken aback, but he didn’t say anything, and followed Kaidyn out of the store and into the dark of the evening.

 

 

    “So, you gonna’ tell me _what_ door you were supposed to pay for?”

 

    Kaidyn leaned his chin on his palms as he leant against the kitchen counter. Morgan shuffled around his kitchen, a little too slow and confused. He glanced first at a mug, then a bowl, then back to the stack of blood-packs in the brown paper bag on the kitchen counter.

    “Last time I was there I kind of… broke down the door,” he answered absently as he sized up a drinking glass.

    _“What?_ How?!”

  He glanced back at the mug, finally seeming to have come to a decision. “Werewolf,” was all he simply said.

    “Oh, okay— _what?!_ Can you run that by me again, please?”

    “Weeerewooolf,” he said extra slowly as he reached into the paper bag and took out the packs. He pulled his hand back quickly, frowning.

    “… Do you want me to…?”

    “…No, I’m good. Have to get used to it anyway.”

  Like he was handling hazardous chemicals, Morgan gingerly took out each pack from the bag and stacked it on the counter. He threw the empty bag in the bin beneath the sink then rested his palms on the counter as he stared at the neat row of packs.

  Several seconds went by before Kaidyn couldn’t stand it anymore. “Are you going to drink one, or what?”

    “I’m just thinking.”

    “About what? Whether it’ll look better in a mug or a glass cup?”

    “…Yes, but not just that, ass. These are cold, right?”

    “…Yeah…”

    “Well wouldn’t it… I dunno, wouldn’t it taste better… warm?”

  Kaidyn squinted with irritation. “…I guess?! Microwave it, I dunno.” This was, hands down, the weirdest conversation he’d ever had. And again, he’d had to explain the whole bear thing.

    “That’s… actually a good idea.”

  Morgan grabbed a mug, a kitchen knife and one of the blood packs, taking it to the sink.

    “D-Do I just stab it…?”

    “I think you can just twist off the thingie… that lid looking thing.” Kaidyn pointed to the bottom of the pack, where a piece of tubing seemed to be the only thing closing off the bag. Morgan ‘oh’d, actually seeming a little disappointed that he wasn’t going to stab anything, then twisted off the lid. His breath caught in his throat as thick, syrupy blood dribbled from the tube.

    “It’s… You’re gonna’ waste… Ugh, give it here.” Kaidyn snatched the pack from Morgan’s frozen hands and got to work, dribbling the liquid into the mug and putting it in the microwave. He placed the remainder of the blood in a second mug, then for good measure washed out the bag before putting it in the trash. All the while Morgan braced himself against the kitchen counter.

  As the microwave whirred behind them, Kaidyn said, “Y’know, I’m actually kind of surprised at you.”

  Morgan unfroze, sighing as he crossed his arms. “How so? I mean, not in the obvious.”

    “Well, I mean… We walked through a building filled with… with corpses man, and blood and guts and just… horrible shit. You didn’t— well you _barely—_ batted an eye. But now…”

    “Now what…?”

    “I mean you’re pussy-footing around a friggin’ blood bag. You’re making eyes at the store girl—”

    “What does _that_ have to do with anything?”

    “You just… You were so strong, y’know? And even though you’re… _different,_ when we were at the warehouse, you still seemed a little like your old self…”

    “…And what, now I’m different?”

  Kaidyn nodded without meeting his eyes as the microwave dinged. He nearly jumped a foot into the air as he hastily scrambled to get the mug. It was hot to the touch; he’d put it in a tad too long, but that didn’t seem to faze Morgan even as Kaidyn winced from the heat. Morgan held the mug in hands like a lifeline, then inhaled the whole thing in about three gulps. After a moment, he scowled into the cup.

    “What?” Kaidyn asked, beginning to grow worried.

    “…It tastes like shit.”

    “…Huh?”

    “It tastes like _shit.”_ Even as he said it, Morgan put the second mug of blood in the microwave, thoroughly washing the first one in the sink. Already Kaidyn could see a noticeable change in his demeanour; his skin was a little more flushed, the veins around his temples a little darker, redder. Even the dark circles around his eyes seemed to be beginning to recede; he seemed more alert and awake. The microwave dinged again. Morgan wasted no time at all draining a second mug, despite his protests. He washed that one out too and leant against the counter staring at the rest of the bags.

    “I mean, it doesn’t taste like shit, per se,” he said after a moment. “It’s just that it… it’s not like the fresh… stuff.”

    “…What were you expecting, Morg? Of course it wouldn’t be. But y’know…”

    “Yeah, I need it to live, I know.” He sighed as he took the packs and stacked them neatly in the fridge.

    “Enough with this pouty angsty shit, man, you’re killin’ me.”

    “Ha ha.” Morgan answered, though his heart wasn’t really in it. “Let’s see you change species overnight and see if you’re still the same.”

    “Hmph. Just FYI I _have_ changed species overnight, so…”

    “Doesn’t count; you’re born that way.” Morgan went into his bedroom, where he fell face-first onto his massive bed, too tired to even remove his glasses. Kaidyn sat at his desk, swivelling in the chair; his chest tightened as he remembered all the times they’d sat here together just like this.

    “So… Melanie, huh?” Kaidyn prompted. He needed to know where Morgan’s loyalties lay.

    “What about her?” he mumbled into the blankets.

    “…You got the hots?”

  Morgan didn’t answer straight away, but that was good enough for Kaidyn. “You have terrible taste in girls, you know that?”

    “What, how?! Mel seems like a nice girl—”

    “ _‘Mel’?!_ You’ve already given her a nickname? See, this is what I mean; you just fall head-over-heels for a girl you just met, then, next minute… BAM! She’s stealing your shit; she’s getting close so she can score; she’s only porking you so she can get to your dad’s gang—”

    “Them’s fighting words, Kai.”

    “You know what I’m on about, Morg. I’ve got a bad feeling about this girl.”

    “You’re just…”

    “You’re just what?”

    “Nothing.”

    “ _Answer_ me, Morg. You’re just what…?”

  Morgan grew eerily silent. Then, “You’re just… jealous.”

  Kaidyn felt his face grow beat red. His heart rushed in his ears as his stomach clenched. “W-w-w-well, w-what if I am? I don’t trust her, and that’s that. Who do _you_ trust more?”

   The room grew silent. It took Morgan an excruciatingly long time before he answered, “I trust you, of course. But I can’t be afraid of some girl… tearing out my throat forever. I’m an adult, Kai; I can take care of myself.”

    Barely _an adult,_ Kaidyn thought.

    “Can’t argue there…” Morgan mumbled.

    “Ass. Don’t snoop. How long have you known?”

    “Known what?” His voice was beginning to slur just slightly.

    “You know what. You can read my mind.”

    “…Since… since forever man; since high school…”

    “And you don’t… I mean you obviously aren’t… You don’t feel the same way, right?” Kaidyn’s stomach twisted with panic, already knowing the answer but dreading it anyway. He was at a turning point in their relationship and it felt like he was toeing the edge of a very dangerous line.

    “…Sorry…” Morgan mumbled gently, barely above a whisper, before he softly began to snore.

  The relief Kaidyn felt was bittersweet; he was glad to finally know it for sure, to have it out in the open, but at the same time broken-hearted that the far-fetched possibility, the delusion he’d allowed himself, had been completely crushed.

  He let himself out from the building, avoiding the rest of Morgan’s family as he contemplated just how this Melanie girl was going to crush Morgan’s heart.


	25. You Like Time-Skips? Yeah, Me Neither. Here's One Anyway

****

  The next few months of Morgan’s—new—life were the strangest he’d ever had.

 

  In a strange way he felt frozen; it wasn’t a lot of time sure, but he felt as though he were being left behind by the people around him. One day he was struck by the startling realisation that he’d forever be stuck looking like an eighteen-year-old, and everyone around him would grow old and, eventually…

  On the other hand though, he felt like his relationship with Mel was making up for his unchanging appearance, despite Kaidyn’s protests. He was his best friend, sure, and he felt flattered that if anyone could be into him, it was his friend, but he just couldn’t reciprocate those feelings. For one thing he couldn’t understand Kaidyn’s distrust; Mel was probably the most trustworthy girlfriend he’d ever had. She didn’t latch on to him, or, more importantly, his money and the fact that his father was a gang boss; in fact, she really couldn’t care less.

  The Night-Mart where she worked daily to pay her way through nursing school was a family business, passed on through her family from daughter-to-daughter—for whatever reason, they were incapable of producing any boys— so it was wasn’t like she was dependent on _him_ for cash. It was because of her family that he was always able to get enough blood to last the week and stave off that awful lethargic hunger that had left him nearly incapacitated those few months before.

  It haunted him to this day; over a week he had slowly and painfully watched as his body had grown hungry and lethargic, incapable of movement no matter how much he tried; it was like his limbs had been replaced by limp potatoes. And the _heat;_ a terrible burning fever that scorched every inch of his body and made it practically impossible to stay conscious, leaving him in a near-constant state of delirium.  Over the past few months he’d since then gotten close to that state but never completely. At first, five bags weren’t nearly enough; against his better wishes, he’d had to return to the Mart to get more shitty-tasting, stale blood only two days after he’d bought the first load.

  But then, Mel was helpful; she had been dealing with different types of vampires since she was a little girl; she knew how to deal with them when they were hungry, coming in demanding blood; shy and sheepish about their first time; when she was one second away from having a starving vampire coming at her throat… It was the most amazing display of customer service he’d ever seen in his entire life. More importantly than all that though; she put up with whatever mood _he_ happened to be in when he stopped by.

  Thanks to Mel, in the past five months he’d never had an excuse to go hungry, to feel that God-awful hunger, again. She eventually took careful note of how much blood he needed, being a nurse trained not only in humans, but in other species living in Jotai City as well. She was knowledgeable too; turns out she didn’t spend every day just sitting around minding the shop and reading manga, but studying hard in both school, and during her work hours dealing with customers.

  Morgan, despite himself, just couldn’t _help_ but fall for her.

 

  Having nothing else to do while the Akatsuki took its time preparing to raid Megan’s penthouse, Morgan took to visiting Mel every odd day, even when he wasn’t in need of blood. It got to the point where Mel’s grandmother—a kind but strong little old-lady whom Morgan wouldn’t dare cross and would, in fact, run away from in a dark alleyway—managed to have Morgan work part-time at the store. Of course, he wasn’t actually paid; Mel’s grandmother, Roselyn, thought it was good compensation to pay off the door he had shattered, and to an extent, thought it was an obscure punishment—or payment—for dating her granddaughter. It was all in good fun to Morgan though; he’d never had a proper job before, and if he could do it and help out Mel, he was glad to. Sure he didn’t actually get paid, but he knew Mel’s salary; it wouldn’t really make much of a difference to his bank account anyway.

 

 

 

  It was a few days before the Akatsuki were scheduled to raid Megan’s penthouse and take out the vampire lieutenant, when Morgan got into his first argument with his girlfriend.

 

  He’d been noticing it for months, but had never said anything. Despite Mel’s blasé exterior, she was actually struggling to balance her tuition and part-time job at the same time. She didn’t seem able to find the time to study and take care of the shop at the same time, and it was starting to concern Morgan. He brought it up only once, early in their relationship and mostly as a joke, that if she wanted, _he_ could pay off her tuition for her easily enough.

  She shot him down faster than a toupee would fly in a hurricane. He never brought it up again.

But as Mel’s finals seemed to steadily be looming, she seemed to get more and more stressed every day. Morgan was glad to be able to take the stress off by sharing some of the work, but even he had to help the Akatsuki prepare, being the only one out of the gang to know how the _Vorvintti_ work and think. It pained him to see Mel so stressed out, so he tried the one thing he thought might help. Money.

  It didn’t turn out well.

 

    “I said I don’t need your fucking money, Morgan!”

 

  Mel slammed her fist against the counter, rattling the jar filled with candy near her hands and giving Morgan a near heart attack.

 Morgan had thought initially that Mel was just a quiet girl only interested in her manga, but boy was he wrong. She was the most charismatic person he’d ever met, with emotions that shifted like the sea, though it took a lot to rattle her. Like this, for example.

 

    “I wasn’t saying you did, just that maybe you could borrow it and pay me back later or—”

    “H-How…? How else am I supposed to take it…?”

    “It’ll take a load off your shoulders, it’ll take a load off _my_ shoulders if you…” Morgan clamped his mouth shut at the look on Mel’s face.

    “Hmmhmm, that’s what I thought. I knew there was a brain in that hard head of yours.”

  She went to the shelves and began angrily rearranging the products, something she did whenever she was frustrated or trying to avoid a conservation. Morgan was tempted to let her cool off, but he hated it when she assumed he was an idiot.

    “Hey, I’m not a fucking idiot. I know your pride’s at stake or whatever, and I’m not trying one-up you, or come in as your knight in shining armor, but I want to be there… for you. I owe it to you for– for being there.”

    “For ‘being there’?” Mel mumbled through trembling teeth. “Being there?! You seriously think me being there for your dumb ass is enough to warrant _paying my uni tuition?_ ”

    “Why wouldn’t it be…?”

    “Ugh, you’re so ridiculously out of it sometimes! I’m not one of your gold-digging exes. I can fend for myself just fine, Morgan. Don’t compare me to them. I don’t… I don’t need you. Like that.”

  Morgan was struck numb. He loved this girl, he really did, but sometimes she made it so _difficult…!_ He’d never met someone so stubborn in his life. It physically pissed him off to see her struggling when he was right _there_ for her. But then, he realized she had a point; wasn’t he acting just like her cash-cow, the one thing he resented his exes for treating him as? The one time he felt genuinely like spending money on someone, he was shot-down.

  Her being right and at the same time being too stubborn to accept just pissed him off even more.

    “Fine,” he hissed between his teeth coldly. “If you don’t need me, whatever.”

  It was stupid and childish, he knew it, but somehow he was hoping Mel would stop him before he left, a last-ditch effort to get her to see reason.

  She didn’t

And that only made him angrier. He left the store in a huff, making his way home with only Mel’s angry face and last words in his mind for company.

 

 

    “Aww, fuck.”

  Morgan looked over the fridge once more, but his vampire eyes didn’t betray him; he only had three blood-bags left. There was no _way_ he was going back to the Night-Mart to get more, begrudgingly sniveling underneath Mel’s nose—well, over it, technically. He didn’t know any other places to go, either; he hadn’t had a reason to search for more. At this rate, three bags wouldn’t last him till tomorrow afternoon. He was royally screwed. And with the fight with Megan looming closer…

  Morgan was the spearhead of the operation; the Akatsuki didn’t have a hope in hell of getting close to Rafaella’s lieutenant without him, and he wouldn’t trust anyone else with the information he was after.

 

 

  Groaning, Morgan was about to find _something_ to distract himself before he heard the elevator out in the hall stop at his floor. From the heavy non-human heartbeat and the light but confident footsteps, he guessed Kaidyn had stopped by to visit.

    _Perfect,_ he thought. _Someone I can vent to._

 

  Ten minutes later Kaidyn sat across the kitchen counter from Morgan, who couldn’t stop pacing as he rattled on point after point of the one million ways Melanie had been pissing him off. Okay, it wasn’t really a million, and not all of them were bad points; at one point Morgan got angry at how pretty she was and how good her blood smelled and went on about _that_ for a few minutes.

    “…And you know, of course I won’t bite her or anything, that’d be… that’d be a _dick move_ y’know? But dammit how can she get off being so… so perfect but such a… an _asshole?!”_

  A little smile had been slowly growing on Kaidyn’s face. It went up about fifty watts by the end of Morgan’s tirade.

    “What…? What are you smiling at?” Morgan asked, irritated.

    “Oh man, I wish you could see yourself,” Kaidyn giggled. “You’re so into this girl, it ain’t even funny.”

    “It _isn’t_ funny Kai. She really pissed me off.”

    “Listen, I know you know it’s about pride for her, and seeing _herself_ through uni. I also know she’s probably capable of getting through this on her own, but if she were to, I dunno, get stuck somewhere, you’d be more than willing to help her out, right?”

  Morgan nodded reluctantly.

    “Good. You know I’ve accepted this horribly boring relationship, and I’m not jealous or anything, so you can trust me when I say, you two aren’t the worst couple I’ve ever seen. You’ll get through this. Just go back to the store and apologize—”

    “I’m _not_ talking to her first.” Morgan angrily snatched a blood-bag from the fridge and equally angrily tore into it with his teeth and drained it straight from the pack. Kaidyn was a little taken aback, but was more annoyed than anything.

    “Are you kidding me? I thought you were _behind_ this ego bullshit. You’ve only got what, two, three packs left? What’re you gonna’ do tomorrow? Starve?”

    “…to me,” Morgan mumbled as he washed his mouth under the tap.

    “What? Didn’t catch that…?”

    “I’m going to wait till she comes to _me_ first.”

  Kaidyn was visibly stunned. “…That is the dumbest, most childish thing I have _ever_ heard you say. Please tell me you’re joking.”

    “She let me walk out of the store. She didn’t stop me, so… I’m going to wait for her to contact me first. I mean, if she wants to. I get that I was out of line, and I’ll apologize. I’m not a complete moron—” he frowned “—so I’ll let her cool off, and if she wants to see me, she can.”

    “Even if it makes you uncomfortable?”

    “…Yeah, even then,” Morgan sighed.

  Kaidyn threw his hands into the air, exasperated. “Jesus, you’re an idiot. Here, gimme’ your credit card. I’ll go get the blood _for_ you. How’s that?”

  Morgan wasn’t too happy about it.

    _…Can’t believe I liked_ this _guy…!_

  Kaidyn’s thoughts lapped at his consciousness. Over the past few months, Morgan realized if he wasn’t fed well enough it was harder to keep other people’s thoughts separate from his own. It was a good indicator as any that he was still hungry.

    “…Fine. Go ahead.” He went to his room and scrounged for his wallet in a discarded pair of jeans and handed the card to Kaidyn. He was tempted to ask what Kaidyn meant by ‘lik _ed_ ’, and if he didn’t fancy him anymore, but he figured that might’ve been pushing his luck.

    “Thanks, Kai. If Mel asks…”

    “I definitely _won’t_ say Morgan is pining after you like a lost puppy, with the sad eyes and everything.”

    “…Thanks.” Morgan said again, with a little less enthusiasm.

 

  Kaidyn winked before he left Morgan alone with his own thoughts, and the thoughts of the rest of those in the building inching closer to his consciousness.


	26. Casino Royale? (a.k.a. I Couldn't Think of a Name for this Chapter. Sorry.)

****

  _The monster was furious._

 _It had never felt such anger before, such a burning desire to kill not because it was hungry, but because it_ wanted _the other thing dead._ _Yearned for it like it’d had never yearned for anything before. More so than quenching its horrendous thirst, came the imminent satisfaction of being able to kill its prey—enemy? Friend? It didn’t matter._

 _It_ wanted _to dirty its fingers with blood, desperately_ wanted _to tear apart flesh, meat and bone with its bare hands, to tear through skin with its sharp fangs. It_ wanted _to reach in and pluck the beating heart from the prey’s chest and feel the meat between its fingers as it died._ Wanted _to break the prey’s bones and hear it scream, tear out the prey’s throat and devour its blood as it gurgled its life away._

_It was far too late by the time the monster realised those things—those irrefutable desires—were already done._

_He stood over a corpse, the husk of the person that had made him so terribly furious, so strongly wishing for their death. His hands were stained with her blood, and worse._

_He stood there for a long time, just the drip-drop of blood from his fingers his only company. The girl sat up and faced him, a soundless scream of pure agony issuing from the hollow where her throat should be, lifeless grey eyes piercing._

_Morgan recognised those eyes, the mangled remains of her dark skin… He screamed._

  With a lurch Morgan all but leapt out of bed, a strangled scream forcing its way from his burning throat. He swallowed great gulps of air, despite not needing them at all as his skin burned with fever. It took him several moments to realise he was alone, and for the events of the last few days to catch up to him. With a groan Morgan reluctantly got up and went about his morning—technically afternoon—routine.

  It had been going on like this for the past few days. Ever since it became apparent that Akatsuki were _definitely_ going to go on the offensive against Rafaella’s lieutenant, Morgan had had trouble sleeping. Nightmares filled with the usual suspects—blood, carnage, death and rage—plagued him in his sleep. Hunger, fever and a wash of shifting, uncontrollable emotions plagued him when he was awake. Knowing that a major battle was looming closer filled him with energy and anxious anticipation. It wasn’t enough that he was downing blood at twice his normal rate, but he was also reluctant to go and pick up more at the Night-Mart. In just a few hours, he’d be fighting a _Vorvintti_ stronger than Benjamin had been, stronger than even _he_ might be.

  It was making him antsy, to say the least.

He’d decided while fighting the ‘Benjamin menace’ that the Chrysalis was a necessity, something he’d have to fight really hard to get in order to stop the _Vorvintti_ from being such a potent threat. Now though, he wasn’t so sure.

  He was strong enough to take down Benjamin—at least he thought he was; he never actually got the chance to kill the kid— and, if all went well, he’d take down Rafaella’s lieutenant, Megan. If he really was as powerful as this ‘first-ancestor’ was being chalked up to be, did he need the Chrysalis at all?

 

       _Don’t you_ want _to kill her?_

    Morgan flinched. He’d been painstakingly taking his time scrubbing his teeth in front of the mirror when that god-awful intrusive voice whispered in his ears. It wasn’t the first time.

    _Sure, I’m angry at her,_ he thought absently. _She killed heaps of my— Dad’s men, and she’s pretty much sicced the entire_ Vorvintti _community on us… And she… killed me. Fuck, I’m curious about that too; if she’s so powerful, why would she make such a big threat?_

_What if she… didn’t_ mean _to turn me?_

    “Sir.”

  Morgan violently spat his toothpaste against the mirror. He hadn’t even heard the woman coming, not even a slight beat of her heart, before she was standing to attention at his side.

    “ _Jesus,_ Grace! You scared the _shite_ out of me!” Morgan self-consciously glanced down at his boxers when Grace didn’t respond immediately.

   One of Grace’s eyebrows lifted just slightly. “We’re moving out at 1800 hours.”

  Morgan had to do some swift mental calculations to figure out what she meant. Then he panicked.

    “But that’s in… Half an hour…! I’m not—”

    “Six o’clock. Sharp. Everyone’s to gather in the hall.” Her eyes flickered down. “And make sure you’re wearing pants.”

  Without another word, she turned swiftly on her heel and left, her footsteps barely making a sound on the bathroom tiles. Morgan was left slightly delirious, but he quickly righted himself and got ready. Something was nagging at the back of his mind, though…

   Once he was fully dressed and finishing off his last blood-pack, he finally realised what had seemed so off about the demon, Grace.

    _It wasn’t just that she didn’t have a heartbeat… I couldn’t hear her thoughts, either,_ he realised.

  She was the first person—demon? Demoness?— that he’d come across whose thoughts he couldn’t read.

 

  Ten minutes later, the bulk of what remained of Akatsuki’s forces congregated in the hall of the Akatsuki’s first level storage. Morgan fidgeted uncomfortably at the front of the group as Bronco, Akatsuki’s acting commander, barked out orders.

    “Tonight, approximately twenty minutes from now, we’ll make our way via portal to the Amaranth Hotel to confront one of the _Vorvintti_. There’ll be civilians there, so try to minimise casualties, please. Our goal is the penthouse, where Rafaella’s lieutenant is believed to be currently residing. An advance team of forty will initially storm the entrance and scope out the place, killing anyone who resists. That group is not to go into the penthouse, and absolutely-definitely _not going to engage the target._ At least, not unless Morgan is with them. Morgan and a small task force will go in once everything is checked out, and he’ll take care of the rest. He’s acting-in-chief when I’m not around, got it?”

  The assembly of men and women cheered, but Morgan felt that it wasn’t as gun-ho as the usual pre-battle optimism. The taste of doubt and fear hung heavy in the air; it echoed in the distant thoughts of those around him, no matter how hard he tried not to hear. These men and women and those that were neither, they’d been around him since he was a kid. Sure, the ranks were always expanding—and decreasing— so he couldn’t remember the names and faces of every single person, but he tried hard to. These people put their faith in his dad’s organisation, in the ideals that his mother had had before she died. And for that, he was infinitely grateful. Now, at one of the most crucial times in the gang’s history, they were putting their lives on the line for all but a whim.

  He could _not_ let them down.

  _Would not_ let them down.

 

  If it came down to it, he’d kill Megan if he needed. If he had to torture the information out of her, he’d do it with a smile if it meant keeping his people safe.

 

 

 

  The Akatsuki did its final preparations, the atmosphere slowly beginning to tense as the time drew near. The scouting team took the back entrance to the building, not leading any attention to themselves before they left. That just left the task force, Morgan included, to wait around anxiously until they got the okay to go ahead.

  Morgan glanced around the group of poor souls that had the herculean task of keeping him alive, committing each face to memory. He didn’t exactly know them all personally, but he’d heard about some of their achievements: a woman, a demon, he thought, that had single-handedly stopped an enemy gang from taking over one of their safe-houses; here, an ordinary human man adorned with an unhealthy amount of scars that had been with the gang since the beginning and had one of the best kill-streaks known to man; another woman, or man, Morgan wasn’t sure, whom was renowned for stealthily taking down targets and slipping out without the slightest hint of detection and had even gotten a name for it. The list could go on; every one of these people were seasoned veterans with the welfare of the Akatsuki purely at heart. It was amazing, to say the least, that they were all putting their careers—and their _lives—_ on the line for him.

  Hidden away among the cargo boxes and leaning her chin on her knees, Morgan spied a familiar face.

    “Ivy,” he grinned as he came to sit beside her on an adjacent box. She flinched; she had been staring off into space. She glanced up first out of surprise, then a frown, then a blush, all in the space of a second.

    “Mo— Mr. Takashima...” She finally settled on a disgruntled, blushing frown that wouldn’t meet his eyes.

    “I didn’t know you were on the task force…” he said casually, letting her stammer slide.

    “I didn’t know I was _going_ to be on the task force, to be honest. I’m not nearly as capable as _half_ the people here…”

    “Oh, I don’t know about that,” he said as he glanced around at the group assembled. “I’d say you can take care of yourself. You looked pretty capable back at the warehouse.”

    “ _Pfff…!_ You still remember that? God, that was embarrassing… To think I didn’t even recognize the Boss’ son… And I’ve only been in the Akatsuki for what, six years?” She laughed, and Morgan’s chest tightened just a fraction. She really was quite pretty, even if her rosy cheeks were a painful distraction, and she seemed a little too old for him. Ivy did remind him of someone, though… That twinkle in her eyes that could turn cold just as easily as it could become warm.

    _Grace,_ he thought. _She reminds me of Grace._

  Morgan glanced around the assembly, amongst the seasoned warriors, but couldn’t find her anywhere. He was sure she was more than capable of being in the task force.

    _Huh. Maybe she went with the advance team…?_ But he didn’t exactly remember seeing her in the assembly at all. Even though she’d gone to get him just twenty minutes before, she’d seemingly disappeared. A strange kind of ache blossomed in the pit of Morgan’s belly.

  Ten minutes after the initial team had left, a crackle of static at the front of the hall brought everyone to an immediate stand-still, silence descending like a cloud. Morgan hopped off the box and joined Bronco as he grabbed the old-fashioned walkie-talkie at the front of the room, placing it at his lips and frantically clicking the button on its side.

  The sinking feeling in Morgan’s stomach grew.

    “… _Vorvi—_ they’ve already… Under attack…” a panicked voice crackled.

    “Come in? Akai squad, come in..!” Bronco shouted urgently.

    “… _knew…!_ They knew we were coming—” The voice ended with a horrified scream, then a gurgle, then silence.

  The assembly grew quiet, just the crackle of static from the walkie-talkie filling the space. By this point, Morgan was shaking.

  Not from fear, but from _anger._

He’d had enough. He’d had enough of the _Vorvintti_ killing his men, getting in the way of their plans, his _life…_

  It was about time he scared the shit out of some of _them_ for once.

 

  Bronco managed to grab him before he reached the elevator.

    “Where do you think you’re going? We can’t just—”

    “Can’t just scare them? Can’t just fuck _them_ up for once?!” Morgan whirled around. He was a tower of angry, boundless energy. “I’m sick of this shit happening. I’m fucking _sick_ of having to hear about more dead men and women. Sick and _tired_ of having to hear our people _screaming in pain_ …!” He shook out of Bronco’s grip easily and stomped toward the elevator. A hand clamped on his shoulder, once again uneasily pinning him in place. It was Bronco. And he’d made a mistake.

  Morgan whirled around once again, fangs descended before he could stop them, a low growl rumbling in his throat.

    “ _Don’t fucking—”_

“Let us come with you…!”

  That stopped Morgan in his tracks. “…Huh?”

    “You must really still be a kid, if you can’t tell it already, Morgan, but we’ve had enough too.” Morgan glanced around at the nodding of the veterans around him, the whispering of agreement in their distant thoughts. “We want the _Vorvintti_ dead just as much as you do. We just don’t have the power you do, Morgan. We can’t just charge in, no matter what we feel, how angry or how sad we are. We have nothing but the power we were born with and the training behind our backs. And each other. We’ll come with you, we won’t stop you.”

  Morgan grew silent, his anger cooling down into a distant simmer. “Alright,” he decided. “But you all better not fucking die,” he said as he looked around the room at each warrior in the eyes one-by-one.

    “And we better hurry.”

 

  The small task force, only comprised of about fifteen people including Morgan, descended the stairs. It was a long journey, about fifty floors, but it was better than carrying heavy firearms through the building’s lobby in front of civilians. The group exited through the back then made their way to the active portal mostly hidden behind the building, passing through the gentle blue light of the portal five at a time. Morgan went last, for safety’s sake, coming out on the other side a little disoriented from the wave of energy. He quickly adjusted though once he sensed what was happening on the other side.

  The voices in his head were a jumble, a cacophony of noise so intense and indiscernible he had to block it out completely. It was a little unsettling, having such a potent sense taken away from him, but the voices weren’t of much help anyway. He didn’t need to hear their screams to know his people were in pain.

  Civilians weren’t running from the building in panic, which Morgan found odd. If there was so much carnage going on, why couldn’t he see it? He could _hear_ it just fine; under the general noise of the casino were the terrified screams of people. But he just couldn’t _see_ it happening anywhere.

  Bronco lead the group right through the front entrance of the Amaranth Hotel. The staff rushed forward to intercept them, before they hurriedly got out of the groups way. Morgan figured the armory of weapons they were carrying and black military-like fatigues probably did the trick. In his peripheral vision he noticed the receptionist reach down to push the panic button beneath the desk. He was about to shoot the guy, but thought a more pacifist option would be just as good. He indicated Bronco to go ahead, then, using vampire speed, he stood before the receptionist, handgun dangling idly in his hand. The receptionist gulped heavily, shaking, but didn’t press the button.

  He’d wanted to try this for ages.

Morgan stared into the receptionist’s eyes, willing it to work, willing the receptionist to fall into his gaze. That’s what was supposed to happen, right? He nearly gave up after a few seconds of nothing until he felt a familiar tug at his belly. The receptionist’s eyes glazed over.

    “You won’t push the panic button.”

    “I won’t push the panic button…” the receptionist repeated in a dazed voice.

    “You’re not going to let anyone _else_ push the button, either.”

    “I’m not going to let anyone else push the button, either…”

    “These are not droids you’re looking for.”

    “These are not the droids—”

    “Ah, nevermind man, I’m messing with you.” The second Morgan broke eye contact, the compulsion broke; he felt the tug in his belly snap. The receptionist looked around, baffled, but he didn’t immediately go for the panic button. Morgan took that as a good sign and left him alone to join the others.

  The group had taken a roundabout way to the elevators to avoid the crowded casino floor, a lone corridor to the left of the entrance. Morgan hurried ahead, following their scent until he came to the elevators. The group had already boarded without him. He waited impatiently, hopping from foot-to-foot as the little monitor above the elevator slowly cycled through the numbers. He glanced around apprehensively; he didn’t think being seen at such a crucial time would really help the situation any, especially while he was holding an armed weapon. After a few excruciating seconds, he boarded the elevator and ascended to the penthouse.

 

  Exiting the hell of elevator music, Morgan found himself in a far worse nightmare.


	27. Deception. Disgrace. Evil as Plain as the Fangs on Her Face

****

  Morgan had had very few encounters with what he imagined hell might be like; he’d been in enough gang fights, police raids, fist fights and all else to get a good idea. He’d walked through hell with the damage Rafaella had done on the Akatsuki base, and his own body. Walked through hell with what Benjamin had done in that warehouse.

  What he walked into now brought to mind that kind of hell.

Wall-to-wall the once pristine white of the penthouse hallway was littered with corpses, blood and gore smeared across the walls like a child’s painting. What could have once been imagined as a grand, beautiful and spacious penthouse was a hellish battleground. In the hallway leading away from the elevator the Akatsuki and Megan’s deadly army were locked in combat; the Akatsuki used their guns and knives, but it barely left a dent in Megan’s army of what Morgan realized to be demons. Demons of all shapes and sizes, though distinctly feminine, laid to waste what was left of the Akatsuki’s forces—claws, teeth, hellish weaponry and monstrous strength tearing the small squad into pieces.

  But it wasn’t all bad, Morgan considered. He spied bodies from Megan’s group littered about the place as well, though admittedly not in as many numbers as the Akatsuki.

  He’d fix that.

 

  It took Morgan a moment to process the extent of the scene in front of him, but from what he got, Megan had been well prepared for their arrival. The opposing group of what Morgan was seriously beginning to suspect comprised entirely of women were large in number, equipped with armor and weapons to fight, and already seemed warmed up, not surprised in the least by the Akatsuki’s intrusion.

  These thoughts passed by in a dizzying whir as Morgan prepped the rifle in his hand and began to fire.

As he raced from the elevator, he loosed bullet after bullet toward the opposing demon army, trusting in his vampire reflexes and already superb—at least _he_ thought so— marksmanship to hit vital points. For the most part, he didn’t miss. He dodged left and right, sometimes even up and over, to avoid a direct confrontation with one of the women. They weren’t his concern; if he wanted to end the fight quickly, he wanted Megan. He could deal with the rest later. He helped as much of his own men as possible of course, but Morgan knew that doing so in the end wouldn’t favour them; prolonging the fight was the most important thing he needed to avoid, given that Megan had knew they were coming and were prepared to fight.

    _How could she have known?_ Morgan wondered as he shot down three demons in rapid succession whilst bounding over a corpse.

  Leaping out from the entrance into the hallway, Morgan stood before the French doors leading into the penthouse’s main room.

 

  Time seemed to still, to quieten just a fraction as he took in the gruesome scene, so much worse than what he could imagine on his own. A great circular white seat sat right in the middle of the massive lounge, though only patches were left of the original colour—the seat was practically drenched in gore, blood… and corpses. Hellish groans of pain and shouts of battle-fuelled rage mingled in a disarray of noise that clashed with the clamour of voices echoing in Morgan’s mind. He didn’t know who to help first, who was in the most danger. It seemed like everyone were hanging on by a thread—there were too many desperate people for him to help all at once…

  Then he found her.

  Megan.

 

  Divided by the massive seat, she was a one-woman army all on her own. Bodies were piled around her nearly in a mound, all Akatsuki, and all with desperate final expressions on their faces. In the time it took Morgan to find her, she’d already killed more than a few of his men, and the number was growing. She whipped to-and-fro in a dizzying blur; every single swipe of her hands dealing a death blow. She didn’t seem tired, not in the least bit fatigued—in fact, it was almost like she was getting _stronger_ with every kill. Morgan shouldn’t’ve been so surprised—he had a good idea of his own strength, after all—but it was still disorienting seeing such a literal killing-machine at work. It was far more carnage in a few seconds than he’d ever seen in his entire life.

  He… was scared.

    _She’ll kill me,_ he despaired before he could stop himself. _If Rafaella is_ stronger _than this… this_ monster, _how’m I supposed to beat that…?_

  Morgan tried to bring himself to step forward, to confront the monster killing so many of his men, but he found his knees locking into place, found his body growing numb. Rather than feeling fire in his veins as he normally did, his blood ran ice-cold.

  Just as he thought his pure dread couldn’t deepen any further, Megan suddenly froze and locked her snake-like red eyes on his own.

  A slow, deliberate smile broke out on her normally emotionless face…

 

                      …And a blinding flash of pain erupted across Morgan’s spine.

 

  He’d been stabbed before, sure, but _never_ had he taken a direct hit to his spine. Not like this.

A sharp cry found its way out of his throat as the pain intensified, bringing sensation back into his numb body. He’d rather be frozen than feel this, though. Paralysed—either from the pain, or the blow to his spine—Morgan could do no more than groan between his teeth as an unseen force held him upright from behind.

 

    “I can’t imagine the pain you’re going through,” a voice hissed into his ear.

  _Grace._

With a heavy wrench, she pulled her wrist free, leaving Morgan to fall heavily to the ground like a ragdoll. He couldn’t do so much as whimper as the pain worsened. She kicked him, turning him onto his back, then grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him toward her sneering lips.

    “Megan will be pleased to know I’ve rid her of you, and your shitty little gang.”

  Her green venomous snake-eyes, reminiscent of Megan’s, glittered with malicious glee as she let him drop back down to the ground. She kicked him once more in the gut for good measure, leaving Morgan delirious with the pain, then left his field of view.

 

 Gasping, he clenched his fists and gnashed his teeth in frustration. It’d heal, won’t it?

    _It’s… taking it’s fucking time..!_

As bad as a severed spine would be, for his current self, he didn’t think it was _that_ severe a wound. Why was it taking so long to heal? And why was he in so much pain?

  His back was on fire as it healed, however slowly—a sweltering heat that bled into the rest of his veins. He was beginning to miss the icy feeling. As his back itched uncontrollably as the flesh began to knit back together, he tried getting up slowly. Thankfully the numb feeling was leaving his limbs, although the bone-dry heat that it left behind wasn’t any better. Morgan stood gingerly, leaning on the white seat for support as he clambered to his feet.

    “Ah, fuck…” he heard himself mutter.

  He was just one casualty in the face of many—the battle hadn’t lessened just because _he_ was indisposed. It looked like things were worse for wear; there were way more Akatsuki dead than a moment ago. Morgan groaned.

  A high-pitched yelp of fear and anger tore through his skull, both in reality and in his mind. He was moving in a flash, his reflexes taking over as he recognised that voice. The pain in his back made itself known with each pulse of his heartbeat, but it was lessening with every passing second. He had something else to worry about now.

  He spotted her just beyond the French double-doors, firing round after round of her pistol into the demon holding her by her ankles and pulling her toward itself.

  It was Grace, and she was taking her sweet time as she dragged Ivy across the carpet.

Between yelps of frustration, Ivy was screaming profanities at Grace. But for all she could do, kicking out and emptying her clip into Grace’s torso, she wasn’t strong enough to brake the demon’s grip.

    “Fucking… bitch! Just give up already!” With a harsh yank, Grace snapped Ivy’s left ankle like a twig.

  The resulting scream was an awful, guttural howl of pain that sent a flash of rage into Morgan’s body. He found himself moving before he’d even registered he was doing it. He had no weapons, but that wasn’t even a thought in the back of his mind as Grace continued to tug on Ivy’s broken ankle.

  Morgan grabbed Grace’s arms, digging his iron-hard nails deep down into the flesh. Grace let go of Ivy’s legs immediately, and Morgan roughly pulled her backward.

 

    “I can’t imagine what you’re going through,” he said with a satisfying hiss before planting his foot against the bottom of Grace’s spine.

    “What’re you—”

 

    With a fierce cry, Morgan cleanly tore the demon’s arms free of her shoulders.

 

  The demon didn’t make a sound as she fell to her knees, her mouth frozen in a silent scream. Morgan threw the meaty arms to the ground at Grace’s sides, breathing heavily. Ivy was just as shocked as Grace, but closed her mouth quickly and struggled to move to the nearest wall and away from the battle.

    “Y-you…” Grace stammered. “You little fucker!”

  Face twisted with fury to the point where she no longer looked human, Grace struggled to where Ivy lay, fangs bared.

    “I’ll kill her…! Fuck you, I’ll tear her to _shreds_ —”

Morgan was angry.

  More than that though, he just wanted this to be over—for the fight with Megan to be over with.

 

  He yanked Grace back by her ashen-hair, and dragged her across the blood-stained carpet. She kicked and screamed, hissed and cursed, but he refused to release his grip.

  He’d get Megan’s attention this time. He’d make sure of it.

Morgan dragged Grace across the battlefield of the penthouse, heedless of the chaos around him as he focused on his goal. Megan was still in the heat of battle, looking as pristine and alert since the battle began, though the piles of bodies around her had grown. Morgan’s lips tightened.

    “You fucking little shit! I hope you die; I hope she makes it _hurt!_ I’ll see you in hell, you fucking cunt!”

Morgan grabbed Grace by the neck with his other hand, then held her against his chest in a chokehold.

  Her screaming had grabbed Megan’s attention, all right.

  Megan slit the throat of the nearest Akatsuki with her talons, then froze. Time slowed to a crawl as she took in Grace trapped in Morgan’s grip, and her missing arms.

  A myriad of expressions crossed over Megan’s face, the first time Morgan had seen her do so.

 

  But before she could react, before she could stop him, with a cry Morgan snapped Grace’s neck.


	28. Light 'em Up, Up, Up. I'm On Fire.

****

  He’d never had the strength to do it before.

Killing someone with a weapon was fine; the weapon was the instrument, the dealer of death and pain. But doing it with his bare hands… that was something different entirely. He was filled with so much rage at first he didn’t realise how much force was actually necessary to do the job—it was far more than what he’d come to expect from action films. If he wasn’t human, he wouldn’t have been able to do it at all.

  It was a satisfying, meaty crack that reverberated up Morgan’s arms and into his skull. With a startling jolt of horror, he heard the extensive echoes of Grace’s mental voice in his mind, their close proximity adding to the sound. What they didn’t tell you, is the person… doesn’t necessarily die straight away.

  Morgan was rooted to the spot as he listened to Grace struggling, coming to terms with what had happened to her and the lack of feeling in her body, the realisation that she couldn’t breathe, the panic… and finally, the shudder in her last heartbeats as she suffocated and her life ended.

 

  He was horrified, but… felt a grim sense of satisfaction. It wasn’t a feeling he could deny, but not one he wanted to willingly acknowledge. He wouldn’t have the time, anyway.

  Megan shrieked.

Never since he’d met the woman had Morgan heard her ever express so much emotion—anger, rage, sadness and murderous intent all packed into a single wail.

  For a second, everyone, both Akatsuki and Megan’s army alike, froze. It gave Megan the opportunity to push through the crowd surrounding her nearly unhindered.

  Morgan had got her attention, all right.

  Now he’d have to deal with it.

 

  Red-tinged lips pulled back over fierce fangs, eyes narrowed and twisted with rage, bloody tears smearing across her cheeks, Megan leapt at Morgan.

  She was taller than he’d thought, and much faster—she clamped her taloned-hands around his throat before he could react, despite how prepared he’d felt, and dragged him to the ground. Straddling his torso, she squeezed with all her might, iron-hard nails digging into the flesh of his neck and breaking the skin.

  Morgan cried out, bracing his hands against Megan’s chest and pushing her away from him, but to no avail. He knew she was strong but… he was an idiot to think it’d be so easy. He tried to pull his knees up, but she was too high on his stomach, his legs too long to get any leverage.

  He didn’t need the oxygen so much, but the pain and pressure against his spine was making him delirious.

    “I’ll kill you!” Megan wailed. “I’ll… kill… you…!” She slammed his skull against the carpet with every word, her grip growing stronger with every hit. Her skin was swelteringly hot, hotter than even his. And it was getting warmer.

  Morgan struggled, groaned, cried out, but he was losing his strength at an alarming rate, like he’d just been doing strenuous exercise for a few hours straight before he came here. With every second that went by, the hands around his neck grew stronger, while his body began to shudder and grow weak.

    _Kill him, kill him, kill him…!_

  Through his slow loss of consciousness, Morgan was bewildered to hear the enraged mental voice of Megan.

    _Take it, take it all! All his life force, it’s_ mine. _He’ll pay for what he’s done to Grace! How did this disgusting human survive…? I’ll make sure he stays dead this time... By taking his fucking life myself._

  Finally, Morgan gripped Megan’s slender but no less solid arms and attempted to pry them apart. From the moment his fingers met her skin, a hot jolt of electricity raced across his veins, followed by an abrupt feeling of numbness that forced him to release her. His arms all but dropped uselessly at his sides like a puppet with cut strings.

  He was beginning to panic.

Blackness was encroaching on the edge of his vision, the ruckus of the battle growing muffled and distant.

  Megan was right; she _was_ going to kill him.

 

  Megan froze.

Her mouth opened with shock and stayed that way as blood began to drip from two bullet holes peeking out from between the purple bangs on her forehead. Her grip slackened, and Morgan hastily scrambled to pull her fingers away from his neck. He had no idea who’d shot her—hadn’t even heard the gunshots—but he was grateful nonetheless. Even with the reprieve, his body was unbelievably weak. Normally tan and sun-kissed, his skin was chalky white, with purple, nearly black veins standing out starkly against the pale skin. He tried backing away from where Megan still sat frozen, slowly and deliberately reaching up to touch the bullet holes in her forehead, but couldn’t muster enough energy to even get to his feet.

  He could only look on with revulsion as Megan wrenched the bullets free from her forehead with the tips of her fingers. The wounds healed disturbingly quickly, though not with the wisp of steam Morgan had become accustomed to. Her eyes suddenly snapped back toward him, like an animal with prey caught in its trap. Even all the emotion she’d displayed earlier was gone. She was aiming for the kill.

  Megan’s body tensed, her eyes narrowing as she prepared to end Morgan’s life. Morgan scrambled back, but couldn’t muster any strength into his arms.

  Once again, Megan froze suddenly.

  Her eyes widened, that predatory gaze all but gone.

    “I can’t hear you,” she said in a small voice.

  Morgan couldn’t even muster a shrug. What did he care what she couldn’t hear?

    “I can’t hear what you’re thinking!” she said as she lurched forward and grabbed his knees.

    “Argh! Fuck, let go!” Morgan tried to shuffle out from her grip as he felt the strength in his legs give out the moment her hands met his body. She only tightened her grip, and for the first time Morgan noticed the veins in her hands and arms. The veins in the tips of her fingers were inky black, the same colour as his own, but faded into the more human blue and red the further away from her hands they went. It was like their veins were… connected somehow.

    “You’re…taking my energy?” Morgan managed to stammer as he weakly pulled himself back.

    “You’re the first person to survive long enough to figure that out,” Megan answered with a sneer. “But you won’t live long enough for that to help you.” Her grip tightened harder, her nails digging into his flesh, now weak and fragile from the energy loss.

 

  Morgan was in full panic mode now.

For the first time since becoming _Vorvintti,_ he really didn’t possess the strength to defeat his opponent. In fact, for the first time, is opponent was _stronger_ than he was. At least, physically. She still couldn’t read his mind, but he could read hers; that was something, right? But at this rate, he wouldn’t get the chance to use this against her, seeing as how she was literally about to suck the life out of him.

  If only… no, it was ridiculous, but—if only he was stronger than he was now. If only he had that strength he’d seen Rafaella possess in Benjamin’s vision. He was no progenitor, but being a first-ancestor had to amount to something. If only he had _that_ kind of strength… that kind of power to back up his threats and stop all this death around him…

  He’d gotten stronger after fighting Benjamin, he’d felt it; he couldn’t hear people’s thoughts before then, so what had he done at the time to change that? How could he gain the strength Rafaella had, maybe even get on her level?

 

  It finally came to him as the tang of Megan’s blood reached his nose from the healed wound on her forehead, unmistakably inhuman and wrong.

    “I-is that all?” he jeered. “All you can do? Steal my energy?”

  Megan growled with frustration. “I’ll steal more than that. How about… _your heart…?!”_

As he expected, Megan surged forward, one of her hands pulled back to plunge into his chest while the other gripped his shirt collar. She was at the perfect distance.

 

  Rallying as much energy as he could—which wasn’t really much at all—Morgan pulled Megan into a tight embrace and sank his fangs into her neck.

 

  It was like trying to bite into raw veal; Megan’s skin was tough, the muscle underneath lean and stiff. Benjamin was a child at the time, so Morgan supposed his skin was soft like one, too? Not a great thought, he realised. But the blood wasn’t any less good than Benjamin’s; it left a burning hot trail of delight on his tongue and down his throat. With every gulp Morgan felt his stamina returning, his body growing stronger and stronger as the blood burned within his veins.

  But it was a win-and-lose battle. Just as he was gaining strength back from the blood, Megan was taking it through the contact with his skin. He had no idea how long he could continue the struggle—either he ran out of stamina entirely, or Megan ran out of blood, and God-knows when either would happen.

  If they continued this way, neither of them would—

 

  Oh, shit.

Megan’s blood was growing hotter in his mouth, becoming more and more caustic with every sip. He tried to take more, but it was scalding his throat like he was drinking acid. Even as he swallowed he felt the blood moving down his oesophagus and burning his insides and stomach, like he’d sculled a shot of strong vodka way too quickly.

  He pulled himself away before it could get any worse. Megan scrambled back, clamping her neck in surprise and pain.

 

  But the blood just kept getting hotter.

Morgan spluttered, gagging as he choked on the scalding liquid. But the more he tried to cough it back up, the greater this throat burned, and his body burned along with it.

    _“Gah…!_ F—what the f-fuck…?!” he stammered as Megan’s blood scorched his tongue.

  It didn’t just stop at the blood in his mouth.

His throat burned, his oesophagus burned, his stomach burned—it took his body a moment, but once the blood got into his blood stream… that burned too. The searing heat underneath his skin only continued to grow hotter as the seconds agonisingly crawled by; Morgan found himself groaning, on the verge of screaming, from the sheer amount of pain.

  Then, before he knew it, he really _was_ screaming.

His skin was _boiling_ from the heat of the blood underneath it—burning away, regenerating, burning away, regenerating, burning away, regenerating, burning away regenerating; a horrible unending pattern of sizzling flesh. Just when he thought the fire in his veins would burn away his nerves, they’d heal and be exposed to the agony all over again. He was screaming until his voice became bloody and hoarse, then it’d heal and he’d howl some more. He found himself crying in _pain_ for the first time in years, white-hot bloody tears that left burning brands down his cheeks and turned his eyeballs into mush.

  Morgan yelled and yelled… until he simply couldn’t yell anymore.

Eventually he was gasping for breath as the hellish flames trapped within his skin devoured the oxygen in his blood; every breath he managed seared his lungs and throat into charred husks, leaving him literally breathless before they’d heal again and he’d struggle at the chance for another breath.

  On and on this went for what seemed like an eternity; skin searing off and regenerating, his lungs scorched into nothingness as he struggled to breathe, then growing back again just for him to repeat the process.

  He’d heard about victims trapped in fires, and how they were blissfully knocked out by smoke inhalation before they could be burnt alive—if only he could be so lucky.

  Morgan couldn’t form words, but between smoking lips he mouthed—he _begged—_ for death.

 

  But no one was coming to save him.

His agonised screams had actually managed to stop the battle, just by their sheer tenacity—both Akatsuki and Megan’s army alike were frozen in horror as he burned before them, his body a glittering red beacon of orange light and steam, never released from its torment. Even Megan looked on in shocked horror as all the pieces slowly clicked into place and realisation dawned. A strange silence hushed over the crowed as the surrounding humans, demons, and everything in-between slowly lowered their weapons.

  But none of the surrounding crowd dared go near him— _couldn’t_ possibly go near him, without the risk of getting themselves caught on fire, too.

 

  Morgan considered, through the blinding oblivion of his pain, to tear out his own heart. That’d probably kill even an immortal, right? If that didn’t work… his mind strayed over tearing off his own head…somehow.

  But those thoughts soon disappeared as the white-hot lava in his veins… began to die down. After a few more painful regenerations—that he was, at that point, feeling less and less—his skin… stopped burning away.

  His body was left warm, his breath searing heat between his lips, but it wasn’t nearly as painful as before. It wasn’t as though the flames had died down at all; it was more like his body had simply grown resistant to it. After several seconds, his senses began to return having been chargrilled into nothingness.

It was his hearing that came first, the melody of a hundred hearts and a hundred held breaths slowly entering his ears. His touch hadn’t really disappeared, but his body grew more and more comfortable with the intense heat in his blood. Finally, Morgan’s eyes regenerated after having been melted by his tears.

  He wasn’t prepared for the crowd of Akatsuki and Megan’s army alike, all staring at him in various expressions of awe, surprise and horror. He figured that _that_ must’ve looked as bad on the outside as it felt on the inside.

  The final sense to return was smell.

 

  After having his body incinerated into nothing over and over and over and over, everyone, especially Morgan, should’ve known. He was in the middle of a battleground, after all.

 

  …He lost his mind entirely.


	29. Cuz' Darling I'm a Nightmare Dressed as a Daydream

****

Ivy’s leg was paining her, but she gritted her teeth anyway and held her gun tightly to her chest.

From where she was leaning against the wall, she couldn’t hear the battle between Morgan and Megan; she had no idea who was winning or losing, or how the rest of the Akatsuki were doing. The only indicator that something was a little off was the sudden hushed silence of the battle around her. It was like everyone had frozen solid, like time had just suddenly decided it didn’t want to work anymore. She couldn’t really blame it.

  She could hear the screams too.

It was unlike anything she’d ever heard before. Ivy had been involved in countless information extraction jobs, had heard even the strongest men scream when pressed just the right way. But _never_ in her entire life had she heard screams of such pure _agony_ before. It grated at her ears and made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. They were so potent, so raw and inhuman, it sent ripples of pain and fear down her own skin.

  But as unreal and horrifying as they were, the worst part was recognising the voice.

  Underneath the wails, there wasn’t a doubt that it was Morgan’s voice.

It had taken her so long to realise; she’d never heard him scream like that before. Before she even realised it, Ivy was dragging herself along the carpet in between the corpses and the stock-still bodies toward the sounds of screaming.

 

  She should’ve stayed where she was.

Idly in the back of her mind, Ivy wondered whether spontaneous human combustion was a real thing. She probably never wondered that again.

  Morgan—though his body was so engulfed in flames she could only tell it was him from his build and voice—was… _on fire._ It wasn’t so much like a fire had him in its grip, but more like it was coming from _inside_ him. Bright orange fissures of light and heat burned from his veins like cracks in glass. There was no blood, just molten liquid, fire, and smouldering flesh. She’d never seen anything like it.

  As the fire ate away at this body, skin, muscles, hair and bones, they would all heal back in a matter of seconds, like rewinding a video.

  After half a minute of gruesome regeneration, degeneration, regeneration—his screaming cut off entirely.

To Ivy it seemed like he was gasping for breath. It was difficult to watch—he’d suffocate for a few seconds, until he seemed to catch his breath, only to end up suffocating again and repeat the process. Ivy hated to see him like this, hated to see someone she once thought to be literally invincible in so much torment, but there was nothing she could do. A brief glance at the other Akatsuki members told her that even they too were hesitant to lend a hand—the fire was deadly, and especially _hungry;_ there’d be no way for someone to intervene safely.

  And just as Ivy agonised over what to do, how she could help, Morgan finally seemed to catch his breath for real. He was still breathing heavily, but his skin had stopped burning away. After a few seconds, the intensity of the heat and flames seemed to die down, the steam receding into small puffs between his lips.

  But they weren’t totally in the clear just yet.

His veins still lit bright patterns across his skin. The insides of his ears, nose and mouth were all bright with an underlying fire, like his insides were still burning.

  But he wasn’t screaming.

In fact, his breathing was becoming more and more normal with every breath. His body was relaxing. Rolling back on his knees, Morgan tilted his head toward the ceiling and let out a long breath. A blast of steam rolled off his tongue and floated into the air.

 

  And he stayed like that.

He was still breathing, so Ivy wasn’t so concerned, but his body was so still she worried he might’ve suffered something inside.

  A woman from Megan’s army—–a human decked in military fatigues carrying not one, but _two_ machine guns for good measure—had the guts to go check out Morgan first. She pointed one of her guns at his temple, then after he didn’t react, prodded him with it.

    “H-hey! Mr. Human Tor—”

 

  Her wrist went flying.

 

  It hadn’t even looked like Morgan had moved, but between one second and the next, the girl’s wrist was sheared clean off, leaving just a cauterised stump behind and Morgan facing her. It took even her several seconds to realise what had just happened, but once she did she propped her other gun up and fired a round into Morgan’s torso.

  At least she would’ve if he hadn’t grabbed her wrist. She screamed as his hand clamped around her arm; the skin instantly began to burn and sizzle underneath his touch. The girl dropped the gun immediately, but it wouldn’t have done her much good anyway. Morgan was already going for her throat the moment he had her in his grasp.

  Ivy supposed spontaneous human (?) combustion would make just about anyone thirsty, but it was difficult to watch someone completely overpower someone else like that, even if it was one of the enemy. Where Morgan’s lips and teeth met the girl’s skin, the flesh sizzled and burned. He couldn’t break the skin properly, and even if he could, the heat would only vaporise the liquid underneath. With a frustrated growl, he shoved the girl away. With one of their own out of danger, the rest of Megan’s army finally took the chance to take Morgan down.

  It was a massacre.

They’d abandoned whomever they’d been fighting of the Akatsuki and gone head-on at Morgan who seemed like the greater threat. But that just made things easier for him.

  His movements weren’t precise. They weren’t controlled, strategized or even remotely thought-out. There was no other way for Ivy to see it… She was watching an animal. An animal unfortunately with military training.

  They all went at him at first, guns and knives blazing, but he took them down quickly. Just a _single_ kick or punch in the right place was enough to incapacitate; the heat his skin gave off was so intense it burnt anything that came into contact with it. He wasn’t even trying to _dodge_ their attacks; a gunshot here? No problem, it’ll heal. A knife wound there? Oh that isn’t an issue… Aaand now you’re dead. The heat in his veins was apparently so ferocious it made even his regeneration more powerful. He didn’t need weapons—his skin, fingers, teeth and strength were enough to take down an _entire army._

  Ivy was terrified.

A killing machine. She’d never had enough of a reason to use the phrase, but Morgan now… he was the very definition.

  It wasn’t just that he happened to be _good_ at killing, either. As he angrily strangled a woman and threw her with one hand, and used his fingers of his other hand like knives to stab into another, Ivy realised he was both starving and _angry—_ he _wanted_ to kill these women.

  It was only until he turned back around—taking a pistol and spraying a woman with it beneath his heel with molten-hot bullets—that a violent shiver rippled down Ivy’s spine.

  Morgan… was smiling.

 

  It’s good that we’re winning right? It’s okay if he’s on our side… right? They started the fight…with us… didn’t they?

  It’s worth it… isn’t it?

Ivy glanced at the other Akatsuki around her before she could help herself.

  None of them were happy. None of them were celebrating. Most looked… sick. Afraid. Unsure. Battle-hardened men and women, in service to the Akatsuki family for _years,_ with pure looks of fear and uncertainty on their faces.

  This…this wasn’t a win.

Ivy found herself crawling forward, and when that wasn’t enough, she hoisted herself to her feet, gritting her teeth and keeping her mouth clamped shut from the pain. She hopped on one foot to the middle of the pent-house floor, where both Akatsuki and Megan’s forces finally lay together in death around the massive seat.

  Morgan slammed a woman’s head into the carpet, once, twice, three times, four… he kept going until his strength managed to break through the carpet and into the concrete underneath, but by then there really wasn’t anything left of the woman’s skull. Even then he still kept searching, looking around for the next person to kill.

  There _was_ no one else.

Either he’d killed them all, or they were cowering away in the far corners of the penthouse. The only one left to note was Megan herself, who had managed to shuffle herself across the room as far away from him as possible. Through heavy breaths and blood-soaked hands, it was her he chose to focus on.

 

 

 

  Ivy steeled herself.

This would be the most difficult mission she’d ever done in her entire life. If she failed… there was a one hundred percent death rate.

  Ignoring the pain in her ankle, she stood up straight and proud in front of Megan.

 

  Ivy steeled herself.

Even as his eyes narrowed, even as his fingers curled and the whites of his knuckles showed, even as his lips curled back over his teeth, Ivy steeled herself.

 

  Even if she could harden her mind… there was no way she could protect her body.

 

  Morgan drove his hand into Ivy’s torso and spine.

 

***

 

  It wasn’t _the_ most painful thing she’d ever felt.

She figured though, that that was probably because at first it was more of a shock than anything else. It was when he pulled his hand _back out_ that it really struck her as painful.

  Her ankle chose that opportune moment to give way beneath her; she went crashing to the ground even as she clutched at her stomach and the suspicious squelch of meat beneath her fingertips.

    “Aw…fuck,” she managed under her breath.

 

  She barely registered that someone had come crashing down with her.

 

    “Oh my god. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

 

  Ivy glanced up.

    “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, _I’m so fucking sorry..!”_

  She was equal parts angry and relieved. “Sorry isn’t going to fix the hole in my stomach, asshole.”

    “I know, I know! Jesus…” he was pulling his hair out, but it was _Morgan._ Those frightening fiery veins were dying down… slowly. They were by no means gone, but they were still there, lying just underneath the surface.

    “Okay… Okay. Alright, I—we’ll try this. Lie down.” After it seemed impossible for Ivy to move herself, Morgan gently helped her into a horizontal position. He was afraid to touch her, she realised. She tried to be compliant, but… even the most gentle of his touches frightened her.

    “Okay this might… hurt a bit.”

  And it did.

  As gently as he could, she screamed as he pushed the organs peeking out from the holes in her skin back into place. He then took his wrist into his mouth and tore a sizeable chunk away from the flesh. He had to be quick about it; if he wasted too much time, the blood would sizzle away and the wound would heal.

  To Ivy’s amazement, wherever the blood met her skin, the wounds would knit right back up, good as new. She felt the organs shuffle back into place on their own, felt the muscles and skin come back together and heal. It wasn’t painful, just insanely uncomfortable and itchy. Morgan had to consecutively tear at his wrist several times before both the wound on Ivy’s stomach and ankle were completely healed, but the pain barely seemed to bother him.

  He looked over her wounds once again with a satisfied nod, but his eyes were distant and lifeless.

  Ivy didn’t need to guess why.

 

  The mounds of corpses of Megan’s army were enough evidence as any. She didn’t know how exactly _she’d_ been able to bring Morgan out of whatever _that_ had been, but she was thankful to be alive, and for him to be back to normal.

  But that wouldn’t erase what he’d done.

 

None of Megan’s army was left remaining to fight. Even Megan herself seemed too stunned to move so much a muscle as she leaned against the opposite wall to the couch.

  It was when she nervously whispered something under her breath that the whole room, shocked into silence until then, was even reminded she was there.

 

  Morgan was the first to react.

A flurry of emotions crossed his face in a blur; he was surprised at first, but instead settled for being just angry. It was controlled anger. Vengeful anger. _Human_ anger—Ivy was never so happy to see something like anger on someone before.

  But that happiness, however unfounded it was, was destroyed once Morgan lurched forward faster than she could follow, the veins in his skin beginning to glow once again.

 

  He grabbed Megan by the throat before she could run away and hoisted her up the wall.

 

    _“Where is she?”_


	30. I'm Gonna' Rust Out and Struggle in the Flame of Fire

****

Morgan had never been a rash kind of guy.

He’d never been the type to rush in head-first without at least considering the situation and whether or not his side were at a disadvantage. On the few occasions he _had_ gone in guns-blazing, he’d put not only himself in danger, but his family and friends as well. He wasn’t stupid by any means; he learnt from his mistakes.

  But lately, with every day that went by, Morgan felt as though his grip on reality—and more importantly, his grip on _himself—_ was wasting away.

 

  Exhibit a: spontaneous human combustion. It was one thing to have his mind slowly go, but his body too? But he hadn’t _really_ been in control of his body for the past few months anyway, he supposed. It was like puberty all over again, but about a hundred times worse. Exhibit b, and the one he really didn’t want to believe: he’d massacred what remained of Megan’s army, single handed, with no weapons.

  He barely remembered doing it.

Oh he was very much awake, very much _there,_ but he simply wasn’t in control of his body. More than that though, he wasn’t in control of his _emotions,_ either. He was angry, he was bloodthirsty in more ways than one, and he was _enjoying it._ That’s what made it all the more surreal, all the more awful. Between one moment and the next, Ivy’s guts were mingling with his fingers—it was the one real shocker that finally, _finally_ seemed to break the cycle. Morgan wasn’t entirely sure how it was possible—he was so… _trapped,_ so in the moment—but seeing her there like that was enough to break him out of it, like flipping a switch. He just wished it wasn’t necessary at all.

  Finally, exhibit c, and the current situation Morgan found himself in: he was moving before he’d even thought of it, like his body once again had a mind of its own. Megan’s throat was suddenly in his grasp, and he was suddenly pushing her up against the wall. Things moved so quickly, it was almost like reading a comic book—there were _scenes_ missing in Morgan’s mind.

  He’d heard Megan whisper ‘a demon…!’— _Megan,_ calling _him_ a demon?!—and he was moving before he could help himself.

 

    _“Where is she?”_ he heard himself growl.

 

    “L-let go of me…” She might have stammered, but Morgan felt the glamour behind her eyes and words.

It… had no effect on him. It took him a moment to calm down enough to realise it, but he could even hear her thoughts too; he might not even have to ask her for the information. He could just try taking it directly.

  But even as he had that thought, he realised it was impossible—Megan’s thoughts were in panicked disarray, only fleeting ideas of escape and a whirl of emotions. She didn’t even seem to know which ‘she’ Morgan was referring to.

    “Rafaella,” he clarified. “Where is she?”

  Megan’s mind only became more panicked. Despite his ability to read her thoughts, Megan wasn’t like a human, nor was she like Morgan—it was a monster’s mind, a _Vorvintti’s_ mind through-and-through. She thought like them, she was _raised_ as one of them, she had their beliefs and emotions. As much as he tried, there wasn’t much Morgan could decipher on his own, despite now being one of her kind. He needed her to tell him herself.

    “Dammit, tell me where Raf—”

  Megan, from seeming like a ragdoll moments before, burst into action. She cupped her hands around Morgan’s neck, mirroring what he was doing to her, and attempted to drain his life with her strange power.

  She tried to, anyway.

He’d been unconsciously toning down the heat in the hand holding on to Megan’s neck, but he wasn’t as in control of the rest of his body. The moment her skin met his, it sizzled and burned like a hot brand against flesh. She shrieked and pulled her hands away, but the damage had already been done.

  Her hands weren’t healing.

It was something else seeing a _Vorvintti_ cry; Morgan was nearly tempted to let her go. Nearly.

    “Fucking demon.” Megan’s eyes narrowed. “You’re so desperate to die early you’d sell your soul?”

  Morgan was actually taken aback for a second. “You think… you think I’d be stupid enough to do that?” He let her go and she slid down the wall, both her neck and hands too mangled for her to do much else. The wounds were healing agonisingly slow where he touched her, leaving her—for the moment at least—incapacitated. “You think I wanted any of _this?”_ Morgan vaguely gestured back to the mounds of corpses behind him.

  Megan seemed tired and annoyed, the first time he’d seen her like that. “Then how…?”

    “You… don’t know?”

  Then he’d been right after all. Rafaella… really hadn’t meant for him to be like this at all. She would’ve told her lieutenant something that important. Or… she wouldn’t have been stupid enough to create such a liability in the first place.

  This entire past year, this life-altering, awful thing… was a mistake. An accident.

  Megan just looked about as confused as he felt. “Am I supposed to know?”

 

  Morgan felt the eyes of several pairs of Akatsuki members still on him, either too stunned by all that had happened up until then, or looking out for him. Either way it made him uncomfortable, both their stares, and the whispers in their minds.

    “Could you… maybe give us some privacy?” he asked. Most of the members left the room and began clean-up, though it took a few of them a while before they could get their bodies moving. But there was just one person that resolutely stayed behind, crossing her arms and sitting on the blood-soaked couch with finality.

  Ivy.

More than ever he trusted her. He’d let her stay. He did owe her his sanity after all.

 

  Morgan turned back to Megan with a sad smile.

    “Rafaella… made me like this.” He hadn’t imagined her realising it sooner, had he? He could have sworn… “I thought you knew,” he continued.

    “…I thought you were possessed,” she said after a long moment of silence, Morgan’s words working their way through her brain. “It’s what most humans do once they realise they can’t win against us on their own.”

  Morgan couldn’t help get a little angry at that. Why did the _Vorvintti_ have to be like that in the first place?

    “You guys really are assholes.”

  Megan didn’t say anything, and her cold eyes gave away nothing. Her gaze was growing more and more expressionless by the second. It gave Morgan the much-needed chills.

    “I need to find her,” he continued anyway, ignoring Megan’s icy stare.

    “She’ll kill you.”

    “…How can you be so sure?”

    “She isn’t like me—” she cracked a smile that didn’t reach her eyes “—isn’t like _us.”_

Did he mention his bad impulse control? It took Morgan everything he had in that moment not to falcon punch Megan in the jaw.

  Wait… was that… _blood?_

No doubt about it there was blood on his knuckles, and Megan was clutching a bleeding broken nose.

  He’d done it again.

And this time he had absolutely _no memory whatsoever._

  Morgan pushed himself a foot away from Megan, as far as he could go without letting her have a chance of escape. Something was… something was seriously wrong here.

  Just like her hands and throat, her nose didn’t seem to be healing any time soon either. She sat up, not bothering to stem the flow of blood. “About what I’d expect from a first-ancestor. And a newbie.

    “It’s getting to you, isn’t it?”

    “…What do you mean?” Morgan asked slowly.

    “Rafaella’s old blood. _Really_ old blood. It ripens, like fine wine. What you’re left with could be equal parts delicious… and equal parts deadly.”

    “That doesn’t make any sense—”

    “Use your head. Have you ever been so drunk you couldn’t even function? That’s what Rafaella’s blood is like; it overtakes you, corrupts you entirely.” Megan brought her scarred hands to her lips, her eyes cast down into a distant memory. “I’ve tasted it. I could barely think… Just a sip was enough to drown out everything.”

 

   Morgan had the startling realisation that the _Vorvintti_ were very absentminded people. From the few he’d met, they were easily distracted, easily bored, and veered off into their own train of thoughts faster than children. He shuddered to think what immortality would to do _his_ mind in the future. This was all probably just entertainment for them. He’d make sure that, for Megan at least, that entertainment wouldn’t last.

 

  He sighed, long and hard, a spout of steam slipping between his teeth, but he was too high strung to relax.

    “Alright,” he began slowly through gritted teeth. “I—I’ll get to that eventually. But you understand why I want Rafaella, so… just tell me where she is.”

  The fingers touching her lips suddenly went limp and Megan looked up at Morgan with a deadpan stare.

    “No.”

  Her tone was ice cold. Colder than anything Morgan had ever heard.

    “Why—”

    _“No.”_

    “…Please.”

  Megan moved closer to Morgan on her scarred hands, drawing her face closer to his. Her breath was sweet on his nose as she whispered, “Fuck you.”

  Morgan had a startling moment of clarity.

It wasn’t that he’d suddenly found his inner peace, but he was so profoundly angry, his body had simply shut down on itself. He was eerily calm and cold when he stared back into Megan’s face, her own eyes as bereft of emotion as he felt.

    “Tell me. Where she is.”

  Megan spasmed. Her body twisted in on itself like she was being branded; she half-groaned half-screamed.

    “Argh…! F-fu— _Gladiolus manor! In twelfth precinct!”_

  The moment the words left her lips, it was like a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She visibly relaxed, her breathing going back to normal from the harsh pants she had before.

  Morgan knew the place. At least, he knew it was a dilapidated mess, left in shambles after the previous owners abandoned it several decades ago. He couldn’t imagine why someone as important as Rafaella would be staying in such a place.

 

  It took Megan a moment to catch her breath, but she was eager to have the last word.

    _“She’ll kill a little fuck like you._ You and your family—Killian, your brother, your friends… Don’t think because you’re one of us you have a chance at beating someone like her—she’s in a league of her own, nothing like me, or a _mistake_ like you.

    “You want to know what it’s like? After a decade, after a hundred years? There’ll be _nothing_ of the human in you left, _nothing_ of your family, either. You’ll be alone. Totally alone.

 

    “And all you’ll have left is Rafaella’s blood poisoning your veins.”

 

  Morgan had no idea when he’d started moving, when he had Megan pinned to the ground beneath him. He had no recollection of tearing at her body, through skin, muscle and bone, like it was tissue paper. He was only vaguely aware of the hoarseness in his voice as he screamed and screamed, his rage venting out all at once. He barely felt the flesh against his sweltering skin as he held her heart in the palm of his hand.

  As he tore that in two, he was barely aware of Megan’s consciousness in his mind slowly dissipating, until there was nothing left. Nothing but a single word, a single whisper:

 

    _Demon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah, i remember this was when the chapter titles started become song lyrics for some reason


	31. *Eye of the Tiger Plays in the Background*

****

  There was only ever one moment in Morgan’s life where he could truly say he was unhappy.

 

That soul crushing sadness that sits in the pit of your belly, swallowing all joy, leaving you feeling not quite right, not quite whole—that kind of feeling he felt only once before.

  As a general rule, children are meant to be happy—no, they’re _tasked_ with the responsibility of being happy. That childish ignorance, that lack of worldly experience and awareness. Ignorance is bliss, and all that.

  Morgan had that ignorance stolen from him at a very young age.

It was of course, when his mother died. ‘Died’, but the actual reason for her death remains to this day uncertain—it was taboo to bring up his mother with his dad, after all. And though, even as a child, he was told she simply passed away, he never quite believed it himself. In any case, Morgan was nine-years-old when she ‘passed away’. It was a year after Erin was born, and they were all still living on Earth as a happy, almost normal family. Morgan couldn’t recall the date, the weather, not even what he was doing that day, but he distinctly remembered the sudden quiet that struck all the adults around him, the serious atmosphere that suddenly descended. Kids have a knack for quickly recognising the change in social atmosphere, kind of like dogs before a storm.

  He remembered his dad, eyes wide with disbelief before the news really struck him, kneeling in front of him and telling him that his mother was dead. Morgan couldn’t remember the words, but he remembered the feelings behind them, and the emotions he had felt at the time. He’d never forget it, in fact.

  For the first few years, life after that went by in much of a blur. It was a dark blur, with a heavy blanket of grief staining it, but it went by blissfully quickly.

  But calling it life was almost an overstatement; it was just going through the motions, if anything. Things that used to entertain Morgan stopped being fun, playing with other kids his age seemed arbitrary and boring. He couldn’t feel it at the time, only noticing it years afterward once he’d become an adult, but Morgan distinctly felt as though his childhood was eroding away.

  It was the most painful part of his life that he’d ever had to face.

His mother was… she was everything to him, as a mother is to most kids. A healer, a teacher, a friend… She was, in Morgan’s innocent eyes, a goddess.

  Now he can’t even remember her face.

 

  And Morgan grew up.

He grew up violently, remorselessly, carelessly, but that’s what happens to most teenagers. He got over it, as best he could, and learnt to cherish the remaining family he had and the legacy his mother left behind.

  And he never had to feel that depression again.

 

  Until now.

 

***

 

  There’s a certain type of taboo in Jotai City—well, not taboo exactly, but it’s a practice that’s definitely frowned upon: demonic possession.

  It’s actually pretty common; creatures of all shapes, sizes and dimensional planes are allowed entry into Jotai, as long as they behave themselves and comply with the city’s law enforcement. Demonic possession isn’t exactly illegal, but it does open up doors for some pretty horrendous things. People going out of control, a family winding up dead, with the only remaining remember with blood on their hands wondering what had happened… gruesome stuff like that. But it does happen.

And more often than not, it’s because someone _let_ the demon possess them. That’s the way it’s supposed to happen, isn’t it?

  Morgan wondered about that.

He wondered about Megan, and how she had mistook him for someone possessed. He wondered about the sudden blackouts, the sudden change in his surroundings, the realisation he’d done something without ever having the thought to do it. He wondered about the fire lurking just beneath the surface of his skin.

  And he wondered especially about what drove himself to kill Megan so violently and angrily. He concerned himself day and night about how, deep down, in the seventh tier of hell known as his subconscious, he enjoyed it.

  Demonic possession… happens every day.

 

 

  The Akatsuki were preparing for its final assault against Rafaella.

The battle against Megan had taken a heavy toll on the gang, but they had members waiting in Lyn City to lend a hand.

  Over the course of the few months in preparation for the battle with Megan, Morgan had become well acquainted with Akatsuki’s ‘parent’ gang—a yakuza family called Aohi. Foremost amongst their ranks were the kitsune, demon foxes in the guise of women that had joined Aohi’s ranks to protect their kind from extinction. Though he’d technically killed their leader—he’d _exorcised_ the demon possessing their leader but, details—in a pretty grand battle, they’d actually taken to him and the Akatsuki, especially considering he was their leader’s nephew. He could definitely count on them for help.

  Ultimately, though, he’d only have himself to count on.

  Battle preparations and the possibility of a malevolent being in possession of his body were what pretty much governed Morgan’s days for the next few months.

  And it was precisely because of the latter that for the first time in nine years, Morgan truly found himself depressed and unhappy.

  Except, unlike his childhood, this time round he had friends to support him.

 

***

  Despite having gone out with Morgan for more than half a year, Melanie always felt like a tourist visiting a hotel whenever she visited his apartment rather than someone that actually belonged there. Of course, Morgan would do his utmost best to have his family and comrades respect her and make her feel welcome. They always obliged; Morgan—at least as she saw him—wasn’t someone you could make fun of, especially when it came to family and loved ones. The only person she’d ever seen him take shit from was his father, which was an interesting situation to say the least. He wasn’t a total asshole to Morgan, but it was in his underlying words and actions that Melanie felt just a touch of a strict, slightly controlling parent. Killian had never outright dismissed their relationship either, but Melanie could tell he’d rather have Morgan go out with someone a little closer to home. He wasn’t racist in the least, in fact he was deeply interested in different cultures, but he probably thought Melanie was a little too ordinary—and not wealthy enough—for his son.

  She shook the thoughts from her head like flies as the elevator came to a stop at Morgan’s floor.

Getting out, the first thing she heard was gunfire and the discorded shouts of pain and help.

 

 

 

    “Where’s Morgan?”

 

  She found Kaidyn alone in the games room on an expensive recliner playing a first-person shooter on Morgan’s massive flat-screen. He looked like he was having the time of his life, and he probably was; though Morgan himself rarely used his horde of hardware—preferring, of all things, mobile apps—Kaidyn was more than happy to take advantage of the multitude of high-end tech Morgan had lying around. Melanie was by now more than used to the ridiculous spending habits of rich people.

 

    “Sleeping,” Kaidyn replied without turning his eyes from the screen.

  Melanie glanced at her watch. Four pm. He slept more like a college student than the dead, she thought.

    “How long have you been here by yourself? Aren’t you bored?”

    “Nah.” And he really didn’t seem bored in the least. “I let myself in; been here a few hours, I think? Time flies when you’re three-sixty no scoping peeps, y’know.”

  Melanie rolled her eyes. She left her bag on the coffee table and went to check in on Morgan.

Just as Kaidyn had said, he was… sleeping. The only light she had was the slither poking through the open door; the room was pitch-black, but she could see Morgan’s skin through the darkness, heard his somewhat laboured breathing like he was having a bad dream.

  She didn’t worry so much; he had bad dreams all the time. He had said it himself even before he was turned he was prone to one or two nightmares every now and then. There was a lot he had to worry about, after all.

  She closed the door as silently as she could and joined Kaidyn in the games room.

 

  Melanie was five steps away from the door when she heard the screaming.

 

  Kaidyn threw the controller and raced to Melanie as she burst into Morgan’s bedroom.

Melanie was shocked; she froze for several seconds at the sight of her boyfriend screaming in pain, scratching at his skin that seemed to be burning from the inside, before her nurse training kicked in.

    “Kaidyn help me hold him down!” She wasn’t sure if just her and Kaidyn’s strength were enough to break Morgan’s grip, but she had to try something; he was scratching away pieces of his own flesh like tissue paper, even if it did heal back almost immediately. Kaidyn was surprisingly resilient as he pulled Morgan’s wrists away from his each other and pinned them above his head single handed.

  But then Kaidyn was screaming in pain too; Morgan’s skin was so hot it was burning his. Despite the pain, he didn’t let go; Melanie felt herself respect him a little more. But besides stopping Morgan from tearing himself to shreds, she didn’t know what else to do. There was no precedent for this in nursing school. And she didn’t think a couple of aspirins would take care of it.

    _Water…?_ There wasn’t much else she could do. Before she lost her nerve, Melanie went into the kitchen, grabbed the biggest pot she could find and filled it with water. Never in her life had she felt a tap was as slow as in this moment while she heard Morgan and Kaidyn’s struggles.

  Hoisting the heavy pot, she struggled to the bedroom, sloshing water all over the plush carpeting and unceremoniously dumped it over Kaidyn and Morgan.

  It was lucky Kaidyn leapt back the second he heard the sloshing of water—the moment the water touched Morgan’s skin, it exploded instantly into steam.

    “Jesus!” Kaidyn yelped. “The hell are you doing?!”

    “I—I didn’t know what else to do…”

  The pair stopped as the steam began to clear and Morgan became visible. He looked… about as miserable as they felt.

 

    “…It’s fine guys. I’m… fine.”

  He shook his mane of black hair, but it was already nearly dry, as were his pyjamas and bed sheets.

    “You… you are _not_ fine!” Melanie blinked away angry tears. “You’re not damn fine, Morgan! If we weren’t here, you’d’ve…. You would’ve…”

  Morgan couldn’t meet her eyes, and that made her angrier. She grabbed his wrist and tugged him to his feet and grabbed his glasses from the bedside table.

    “Mel, wait, don’t touch—”

    “I’m not scared of you hurting me.” Though even as she said that, she was reminded of Kaidyn’s screams. She led him from his bedroom into the elevator, aggressively stabbing at the buttons until the doors closed. Kaidyn followed listlessly behind, blowing on his hands.

    _Strange…_ she thought. She could’ve sworn he was way more burnt than that—from the way he was acting, it was like he had touched a cup of warm coffee rather than skin able to evaporate water instantly.

  Putting it out of her mind for now, she dragged her boyfriend away from the elevator impatiently and led him through to the training area of the Akatsuki’s lower level.

  The area, utilitarian in solid grey steel and heavy-set dim lights, was mostly used for weapons training, fitness and self-defence training, but at that moment had only one guy in it that took one look at Melanie dragging Morgan behind her and left as quickly as he could without sprinting.

    “Mel—”

    “Here.” She shoved his glasses into his hand then crossed her arms.

  He put them on agonisingly slowly, then frowned at Melanie. “Mel, what are you doing?”

    _“You_ are going to get a handle on this. I can’t—I can’t watch you suffer anymore. The last few months you’ve just been… I hate to see you in pain, okay? Isn’t that enough?”

    “I can’t I don’t know how—”

    “Just _try._ Morg. Please. Not for me—I want you to do this for _yourself.”_

He frowned, but his eyes softened somewhat. “…Alright. But I can’t promise anything, Mel.”

    “Just _trying_ is enough.”

  He was so determined, standing there in his pyjamas, that Melanie couldn’t stay mad at him. She wasn’t really mad at him at all, she just needed him to understand for himself. Besides, he could read her thoughts—he wouldn’t be influenced by her mock-anger. She’d had enough of seeing him in pain the last few months, both mentally and physically. Melanie wasn’t entirely sure how the big battle with Megan had turned out, but from what she’d heard Morgan had single-handedly taken care of the entire gang, leader and all, all because of this strange power he’d gained overnight. And it wasn’t just the fire he suffered from; Melanie could feel the regret and anguish of having been so monstrously out of control underlie every one of Morgan’s thoughts and actions. She didn’t want to see him suffer like that anymore. _Wouldn’t_ let him suffer like that anymore.

 

    “…What should I do?” Morgan asked dejectedly.

    “Hmm… I dunno—” Even after all her boasting, Melanie hadn’t actually devised a plan to take care of the whole burning situation.

    “Here.” Kaidyn grabbed a metal tray from the corner of the room and placed it in Morgan’s hands, his own hands mysteriously healed like nothing had happened. “Melt this.”

  Morgan was struck dumb for a second, but nodded uneasily. He concentrated down at the metal in his hands, brows furrowed.

  Nothing happened.

The trio waited, Morgan gritting his teeth, but even after several seconds nothing visibly happened to the metal.

  Kaidyn grimaced. “Well, after all that he can’t even melt a—”

The metal began to glow orange, then red, spreading out from beneath Morgan’s fingers. Morgan was so surprised he dropped the tray immediately, sending it crashing to the ground with a loud _clang._ The three stared instead at his fingers, the veins underneath glowing a similar orange to the tray. It spread up his arm and neck and along the delicate veins in his cheeks, all the way to his eyes, where it lit up his pupils from within.

    “Does that… hurt?” Melanie asked softly, equal parts fascinated and horrified.

  Morgan wriggled his fingers. “No… not a bit. It’s just a little warm, but not... it isn’t painful.” The moment he lost his concentration, the glow died down almost immediately. The moment his veins became black again, Morgan staggered and lost his balance, his legs giving way beneath him. He fell to his knees as Kaidyn and Melanie quickly helped him up.

    “Jesus, you okay?!” Kaidyn asked.

    “Y-yeah, I think so. That took a lot out of me, I think.”

  Melanie had figured the same thing. He couldn’t help it when it went out of control, but at least it seemed like he could _learn_ how to control it. At least in the future. Even the miniscule amount of control he could exert seemed to tax him quite a bit.

  This would take _a lot_ of work.

 

 

***

      “Ha. Ha. Ha. HA AHAHAHAHA….!”

  Morgan flashed a grin full of fangs as he danced across the room, melting things left and right and using his bare hands to slice through others like lightsabers. He was actually having so much fun he was freely laughing like an anime villain.

  Melanie hadn’t seen him laugh that hard since… probably since they’d met.

His dad had forked out the cash to pay for all the loose metal slabs stacked around the training room, but probably hadn’t guessed it would be used like this. Long cooled puddles of molten metal were moulded to the floor around the room. Half-destroyed slabs were placed in the remaining spaces. Specks of sheered metal and debris from a whole range of destroyed materials littered the place.

  It looked more like a warzone than a training ground.

 

  But it was worth it.

    “Okay, okay. What do you want, Mel? Dolphin? Shark? Giraffe…?”

    “I don’t know what any of those are. I didn’t grow up on Earth, remember?”

    “Oh yeah… Right um, something from here… I can’t do a dragon, so how about the next best thing? A salamander!”

  He grinned again as he rubbed his hands together, his palms lighting up as he began shaping out a vague blob that looked nothing like a salamander from one of the metal slabs. Morgan probably didn’t realise it, but whenever he was using his powers like this it left him more exposed to what he was; his fangs were fully extended when he spoke and his pupils were slits that glowed fiercely orange, like some kind of hellish demon.

  But Melanie didn’t mind.

From the moment he’d met her, she knew what he was. She’d grown used to it; she _had_ been dealing with vampires her whole life. Plus, seeing him having so much fun… he seemed more comfortable like this anyway. Not hiding anything. Natural.

  The only problem to her was the fact that he was a crucial element in the Akatsuki’s battle—no, _war_ —against the Vorvintti. He was their ace and their vanguard all in one. The whole fight against the woman that turned him, Rafaella, all pinged on _his_ abilities, his knowledge, and his instincts.

  Though she’d rather he not fight at all, Melanie needed to make sure he was prepared.

 

    “Morgan.”

  He turned as she said his full name, the smile slowly disappearing from his lips.

Melanie stood her ground in front of him, even though he towered so far above her. She took his right hand in her left, then dragged him to one of the stone slabs in the room and placed his left hand on the metal.

    “I want you to melt this into a puddle.”

  The unease in his face was almost palpable. “Mel, I can’t do that.” He tried to pull his hand free from hers, but she held her ground.

    “I trust you. We’ve been— _you’ve_ been training hard these last couple months, Morgan. All that effort wasn’t for nothing. If you can’t do this… I don’t think you’re ready for _her._ And you probably won’t ever be.”

    “I… Why? Why is this so important to you?”

    _“Control._ I want you to _control_ yourself, if only for your own sake. What happened with Megan—”

    “Don’t—”

    “—was pretty bad, and I can tell you’ve regretted it ever since, even if you won’t say anything. I don’t want you making mistakes you’ll regret, not ever. Under all that tough vampire skin, you’ve got the softest heart out of all of us. And even though you’ll heal on the outside, no amount of vampire healing will heal the stuff on the inside.”

  Melanie knew Morgan wasn’t especially worried about wounding her—any wound she sustained could easily be healed by his blood or saliva, so that wasn’t an issue. What she could so easily see he worried about was the pain she’d be suffering at his expense.

  And it equally broke her heart and warmed it knowing that.

    “…Please,” he said, shaking his head slowly—but she could tell his will was breaking. “Don’t make me.”

    “Morgan,” she said, pressing her lips to his warm ones. “Melt the goddam metal.”

  He visibly gulped. Melanie had lied; there was actually _one_ other person Morgan would take crap from. And she smiled at him as he closed his eyes, concentrating harder than he’d ever had in any of his training sessions.

  His palm grew warm underneath Melanie’s, but it wasn’t painful.

It took a long, tense while of focus, but eventually Melanie felt the heat at her right side, heard the steady drip drop of the molten liquid. Morgan was trembling slightly beneath her touch as slowly, bit by bit, he concentrated all his energy on his left hand.

  With a gasp, he eventually stepped back from the metal, now nothing but a pile of darkening liquid on the floor. He didn’t let go of Melanie’s hand, but frowned down at her.

    “That was dangerous.”

    “I know. But, I figured you could probably do it.”

    _“Probably?”_

“Most likely. Definitely. One hundred percent… I’m proud of you.” She kissed him, and eventually he kissed her back without restraint.

 

  He suddenly broke the kiss with a smile.

    “I might… _actually_ be able to do this Mel.”


	32. It's A Loveless World

****

    “You ever get that feeling the world’s changing around you? Like last year we were both in high school, but now there’s a catastrophe going on and the whole world’s going to shit? You ever feel that?”

 

  Morgan tapped furiously at his phone, drowning out Kaidyn as he attempted to listen to the Japanese girls singing in his ear. Despite having had better reflexes, he was still terrible at this one particular rhythm game. “You sound like some old guy angry at the new generation ‘cuz they’re taking too many selfies.”

  But to an extent Morgan did agree.

So much had changed in the past couple years, he could hardly look back at his eighteen-year-old self and say that he was still the same person.

  Kaidyn frowned from his perch on the couch. “Y’know what I mean. _You_ of all people know what I mean.”

Morgan sighed, resisting the urge to throw his phone as he failed the song. “Yeah I know, I know. I don’t age Kai, I _know._ ”

    “Good…” Kaidyn nodded sheepishly, embarrassed he might’ve pushed things too far.

  The two lapsed into a somewhat awkward silence, Morgan attempting the song on his phone again and Kaidyn returning to the TV.

 

  It was after twelve attempts at the same song and listening to Kaidyn’s worried thoughts over and over that Morgan couldn’t take it anymore.

    “I don’t care about it…!” He actually did throw his phone this time—the fifth one he’d bought in the last month. “It doesn’t bother me anymore, okay? Stop thinking about it, dude.”

  The outburst had come out of nowhere—Kaidyn couldn’t hear the other side of his mental conversation—and so he jumped about two feet into the air.

  He clutched his heart. “A-are you sure?”

  The annoyed look Morgan gave him was answer enough.

    “Look man, if you ever—if you ever want to… I dunno, talk about it, y’know I’m—”

  Morgan’s eyes softened. “Yeah I know, Kai. Don’t worry about—”

 

 

  With a grinding crunch of metal, the elevator in the hallway squealed.

 

  Someone—or, more likely, _something—_ was pulling the doors open before the elevator had a chance to stop, the metal screaming in protest.

  Morgan and Kaidyn raced into the kitchen, beside which the elevator doors shuddered as the thing inside forcefully pushed them open.

  Out stumbled… a girl.

 

  She had severe injuries across her entire body—bullet wounds criss-crossed her skin, as well as cuts that seemed to be from deadly claws. She was breathing heavily, like she’d been running for ages from whatever had done this to her.

  And she was terrified.

    “Morgan Takashima?” she said through heavy breathing, her desperate eyes boring into Morgan’s.

    “W-What happened?” he stammered back.

 

  And he had to ask.

  He couldn’t read her thoughts.

She was a kitsune; pearl earrings glittering in both her ears blocked his telepathy; violet, snake-like eyes glowed like eldritch embers from beneath black bangs, the only other pair of kitsune eyes Morgan had ever seen besides the first kitsune he’d met, Hanami—and his aunt.

  The kitsune looked like she was about to fall over, and Morgan felt vaguely guilty about pressing her, but whatever crisis she’d come from, she’d gone great lengths to find him and tell him about it. Tending to her wounds then asking her about it could mean the difference between life and death for someone out there.

  It took her a moment to catch her breath, but she finally answered:

 

   “The _Vorvintti…_ Rafaella… She’s captured some of us.”

 

***

 

  To some, it might seem like the cool and calm exterior Morgan was exhibiting had the makings of a pretty competent leader.

  What they didn’t know was that he was in turmoil on the inside.

Anger was the predominant emotion, augmenting his thoughts and movements—or, more accurately, _poisoning_ them. But even that was tempered with fear, worry and concern for the captured kitsune he knew he couldn’t save in time. He was a flurry of action as he prepped the _Akatsuki_ anyway, for God-knows what was going to happen next.

 

  The injured kitsune who had managed to escape, Asami, had told Morgan that for the past few months the kitsune had been searching for the Chrysalis, and that it had turned up in about the one place they’d expected—at Gladiolus Manor.

  However at the same time, the _Vorvintti_ had been searching for Megan’s killers—the _Akatsuki’s_ clean-up crew had combed over most of everything, but they’d left the bodies for the _Vorvintti_ to find. Of course, what they found was supernatural in nature—Rafaella was under the assumption that only a _Vorvintti_ or something similar could’ve been capable of such tenaciously violent death. She’d undergone her style of ‘internal investigation’, using her compulsion on every single member of the _Vorvintti_ to rat out the killer.

  It had taken her months. And it had amounted to nothing.

So she branched out. She combed through other nearby gangs and mobs that had a grudge with the _Vorvintti_ , using her ‘talents’ to interrogate every single person she could get her hands on.

  That had also taken her a long time, a lot of which the kitsune were also on the lookout for the Chrysalis while carefully avoiding Rafaella’s scrutiny.

  For the most part, they succeeded.

At least, until Rafaella brought her attention on the _Akatsuki._

She’d thought they were so weak, so subjugated by her last assault, they’d _never_ try to mess with her again.

  It was really the last nail in the coffin to Morgan that she had no idea what she’d done to him.

As Rafaella turned her attention to the _Akatsuki,_ the kitsune’s once hidden presence became known, leading them to their capture. Asami had barely managed to escape before the more barbaric _Vorvintti_ reinforcement arrived—one or two of them against a kitsune were nothing, but Rafaella had a _legion_ of vampires at her beck and call.

  She’d raced here as fast as she could to warn Morgan of the danger:

  The _Vorvintti_ were planning on taking care of the _Akatsuki_ once-and-for-all _._

Morgan tried rustling up as many troops as he could manage within the building, but there simply weren’t any left. He tried calling in kitsune from Lyn city, but there was no way they would get there in time.

  Once again, they were caught off guard.

 

 

    “You should go home.”

  Morgan leaned against the balcony overlooking the city far below and sighed. Usually he enjoyed the cloying scent of the ever night-blooming roses that fringed the marble terrace, but tonight they were a distraction he didn’t really need. He wasn’t just standing there in the brisk night air because he felt like it; he was the acting sentry, watching out for any suspicious activity on the street far below.

    “Grrrrr,” Kaidyn the bear grunted eloquently.

    _Can you really afford to send away all the help you can get?_

“You’d probably be a good distraction. No one ever expects a bear.”

    _See? I’m the key to survival._

    “I wouldn’t go that far—”

 

  He _felt_ them before anything else.

A tangible feeling of dread, of pure _malice_ that seethed through the air. He zeroed in on a gang of eight or so, weapon-less, sauntering toward the front door of the apartment building.

  _Vorvintti._ And powerful vampires, no less.

Morgan raced inside, followed by the not as graceful lumber of Kaidyn.

    “They’re here…!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. The building flew into a flurry of activity, soldiers racing into position around the elevators, in case they skipped ahead onto Killian or Morgan’s floors.

  The _Akatsuki_ had a strange kind of agreement with the apartment staff: they could stop the elevators and stairwell doors from opening onto civilian floors in case of a crisis just like this one. Just living in the building put all the civilians living there in danger, so it was a much appreciated system by everyone involved. Of course, the system failed when they were first attacked by the _Vorvintti—_ they couldn’t close everything down when they had already infiltrated the building—it was just lucky they weren’t interested in the innocent people living there.

  As it was, it still left the _Akatsuki_ with the possibility that they wouldn’t go to the first floor available to them, and might instead skip ahead. It was difficult to station men on every level, with so little around, but they had no choice.

 

    “The elevator’s moving!” someone shouted from up ahead.

  Morgan and Kaidyn hurried, Kaidyn finding a nice hiding spot to scare the visitors, and Morgan arranging himself inconspicuously behind the ring of armed gunmen surrounding the elevator.

 

  He could literally taste the tension in the room on the tip of his tongue as the elevator crawled agonisingly up through the levels. Would it stop below, on the storage and training levels? Here, on the ballroom floor? Morgan’s room? His dad’s office?

  The numbers stopped moving. The doors didn’t open.

They were a floor below.

Morgan was the first to react; he burst into speed, racing down the hallway and leaping from the top of the staircase, landing on the balls of his feet.

  But for all his speed, he wasn’t fast enough to make it before the fighting had begun.

He was right in thinking they were vampires; they really had no weapons whatsoever, not even concealed, and they were able to withstand the gunshots coming at them like they were from pea shooters. But they only let themselves get shot at for a few seconds—whipping into motion too fast for his fellow comrades to counterattack, they began to take them down one-by-one.

  Morgan threw his pistols to the side—they wouldn’t be much use to him anyway—and cracked his fingers and neck, the sound echoing loudly through the training room.

 

  Only two of the vampires turned their attention to him.

The rest continued their assault, taking down men and women left and right. They were ferocious; Rafaella sent them to kill this time, not to send a message. But they weren’t as ferocious as Benjamin; _nothing_ like Megan.

  Morgan wouldn’t let them get far.

The two vampires—dressed in plain clothes with rigid, stony faces that glowed with supernatural beauty—took off toward Morgan in perfect synchronisation.

  Morgan let them take the edge, let them feel like they were winning.

Just by the tang of their blood in the air, the feeling he got from their bodies, and their minds laid bare before him, he could tell… they weren’t a match for him.

  He pretended to be afraid, to be intimidated, up until the two of them got close enough for their sharp fingernails to graze his skin.

  Then he smiled.

They tried stopping themselves the moment they saw his fangs, but their momentum was too strong, too uncontrollable.

  Morgan used that to his advantage.

  Tensing his fingertips, he plunged his hands into both of the vampire’s chests, piercing their hearts and out through to the other side in one fluid motion.

  He wrenched his wrists free, pulling the lumps of still-beating muscle back through with them. As the two vampires fell to their knees, their final expressions looks of bewilderment, Morgan threw the hearts out toward the rest of the vampires ahead.

  They were toying with the _Akatsuki,_ taking their time in killing them—which thankfully gave Morgan enough time to stop them—but _that_ caught their attention. They broke free of their victims, all five of them instead focusing their attention on Morgan instead.

 

  Morgan nodded toward the remaining _Akatsuki._ “Get out of here. I’ll take care of it.”

He didn’t bother telling them to stay on stand-by. He was determined to take care of this himself. They didn’t need to be told twice; they left as quickly as their wounds could take them.

  One of the remaining vampires, a blonde girl who looked to be in her late teens in jeans and a band t-shirt, was the first to say a word.

    “...I don’t know who I’m pissed at more. Those two for getting fucked up so easily, or you for doing the fucking up.”

  Morgan shrugged. “They started it.”

    “…I guess they did,” she said with a sigh and a batting of eyelashes. To Morgan she seemed like the typical cheerleader-type straight out of a high school b-grade film. But her thoughts were anything but.

    “Russ,” she ordered.

  A vampire to her left stepped forward; he was tall, with muscles bulging out of a shirt barely able to contain them, but with soft curls of rust-red hair and a baby’s face.

    “Kill him,” the blonde girl—Tracie, Morgan learned from her thoughts—said.

 

  Russ didn’t seem too fazed. In fact, he registered barely any emotion at all, both mentally and physically, as he rushed at Morgan head-on.

  Morgan was a little disoriented. Russ moved much faster than his weight should’ve allowed, and he was such a blank slate Morgan couldn’t read where his attack would strike from. He narrowly missed the blow aimed at his neck, flinching back as a lightning-quick arm the size of a log whipped toward him. But the log managed to clip him in the shoulder.

  That kind of strength… that’s op. Cheating. Not allowed.

A sizeable chunk of flesh was missing from Morgan’s left shoulder. He was too shocked to do much of anything else, even scream, before Russ was moving in for a second blow. Morgan was playing a little before, but he needed to get serious if he wanted to _keep_ his head on his shoulders.

  He leapt back as Russ threw an uppercut that Morgan could feel the vibrations from a few feet away.

As Russ charged forward, his head leaning down like a bull, Morgan dodged to the side. He clutched his shoulder as the vampire threw his arm down in a karate chop capable of destroying not only bricks and boards, but probably concrete slabs and cars too. The chop made a crack in the floor that sent a flutter of panic into Morgan’s stomach—what if they destroyed the apartment building? He needed to end this a lot quicker than he thought.

  Russ was getting more and more frustrated, his blows coming wider and more vicious. Morgan was able to dance around his hits more easily, but if he got caught in even one of those massive arms he wouldn’t stand a chance. The huge vampire swung left and right, up and down, trying to capture the smaller Morgan in all manner of ways, but just couldn’t manage to get his hands on him. And his breathing was becoming more and more laboured, heavy breaths that racked the giant’s frame; Morgan had never seen a _Vorvintti_ so starved for breath before.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Morgan saw the other vampires… getting bored.

  They’d enter the fight themselves, or go off and start killing his friends.

  He’d been thinking it for a while, but Morgan supposed… now was a good as time as any to take them down.

 

  As Russ brought his hands together in a fist and slammed them against the ground where Morgan was standing, Morgan danced to the side and leapt onto Russ’ back, his shoulder having long since healed. There was—probably—no way he could tear out the giant’s heart, but the vampire’s laboured breathing was giving him an idea. He put his arms around Russ’ thick neck in a chokehold and held on for dear life. The giant might’ve been stronger than him, but there was no doubt he had the better stamina and agility.

  To their credit, the vampires standing off to the side didn’t interfere as Russ struggled to draw in a breath.

    _C’mon… C’mon…! Just die already…!_ Morgan thought absently.

  Russ’ muscles were so bulky he could barely reach up to grab at the arms around his neck. But even if he could, he was slowly losing the feeling in his body and muscles; he couldn’t muster the strength to resist.

  It took an agonisingly long time, but eventually Russ lost consciousness, falling to the ground in a resounding _thump_ that Morgan worried would put another crack in the floor.

  But he wasn’t dead.

His pulse was incredibly weak, but the giant… wasn’t dead yet.

    “…Fuck! What does it take to kill you… you—dammit!” He kicked the sleeping giant out of anger. He knew _precisely_ what it would take, he just didn’t want to go through the trouble. Going back to where he discarded his pistols, he picked them back up again and returned to Russ. The vampires didn’t stop him. Morgan glanced at Tracie. “Would a round of bullets into the heart kill you fucks?”

  Tracie shrugged. “Why don’t you try it and find out?”

  The complete disregard the _Vorvintti_ had for one another always surprised Morgan. He aimed right where he could hear the faint pulse of the vampire’s heartbeat, then fired off the entire clip.

  His aim was impeccable—not one bullet went to waste.

That intense concentration of precise fire left a good basket-ball sized hole in Russ’ back where his heart would be, all the way through to the other side.

  The vampire’s body was…decidedly quiet. He was well and truly dead.

    “Ah ha, look at that. It does work.” Morgan threw the pistols once again to the side, now really useless to him with no ammo.

 

  A strangely timid and small vampire girl with black hair and overalls stared down at the massive hole in the giant’s back, her eyes brimming with bloody tears.

    “Y-you killed him…!”

  She raced forward in a blur faster than Morgan could even comprehend, Tracie shouting _‘No…!’_ a second too late to stop her.

  Morgan didn’t see her coming, _couldn’t_ see her coming. He wouldn’t be able to react in time if she went for his heart or neck. But he wasn’t even thinking about that; he didn’t have the time.

  He didn’t register mentally her hand, flattened into an edge sharper than a sword, coming toward his chest.

  But his body registered.

 

  The movement was already complete, the girl lying dead on the ground, before the memories caught up with him.

 

  She’d gone for his chest, but his arms were much longer than hers, his height giving him a further advantage. He’d grabbed her wrist in one hand, stopping it just inches from reaching his chest, and forced his fingers into her chest and heart.

  He yelped and threw the organ on the ground as the sensation of it finally reached his brain. Killing those two guys before was one thing—he’d planned that perfectly—but this… this was something else. This reminded him a little too much of how he’d killed Megan.

    “Aaaaah, I fucking—I did it again.”

  Morgan was too concerned with what he’d done to see the look that crossed Tracie’s face.

    “Rafaella always believed the one that killed Megan was one of us. We all thought she was getting old, going senile, but now… Now I know.

    “It was you.”

  Her blue eyes were icy-cold, the pupils thin slits. Morgan glared right back, willing his pupils to do the same. “And…? If it was me?”

    “I’ll make sure she gets your head tied with a nice little ribbon. Kill him.”

  She crossed her arms, but allowed the final two vampires at her side to fight instead. Morgan was beginning to think the girl was all talk.

 

  The final two vampires were both women, dressed identically in loose-fitting military gear with head-scarves that made it impossible to tell who was who. Unlike the few vampires he had fought before, these two had actually come prepared for a fight rather than a slaughter. Their thoughts were concealed, even from him—they were probably used to living in an environment where their thoughts were exposed at all times. They flanked him, using their hands and wrists like knives, the best way to slice through an opponent. It was all Morgan could do to dodge them—they moved more like the kitsune than vampires. Their movements were practiced, precise… and deadly.

  One of the women actually managed to gauge a hole into his stomach after he didn’t dodge fast enough; the other, taking advantage of his momentary lapse, slammed her heel into his left foot—Morgan clearly felt the toes breaking. They didn’t give him time to recover.

  A hand clearly came toward his head—he dodged it clumsily; it was everything he could do with his broken toes whilst holding in his intestines. The other girl didn’t give him time to reorient himself. She went for his neck just as the other girl was already going for his heart.

  Morgan was _determined_ not to die here.

He grabbed both girl’s wrists just before they found their mark, tightening his grip until he felt the bones beneath snap. They gritted their teeth, but neither cried out.

  Morgan was savouring this tiny victory whilst figuring out his next move, when a sudden feeling of overwhelming cold filled his chest.

 

  Tracie had her palm against Morgan’s chest. Everything beneath her touch…turned to ice. She grinned, slow, and taunting, as the ice continued to spread from beneath her fingers across his chest.

  Morgan was stunned. Bewildered. He was well and truly shocked.

  Then he began to laugh.

Huge guffaws of unchecked laughter that rang out across the training room. He was laughing so much it actually brought bloody tears to his eyes. Now it was Tracie’s turn to be stunned. The ice was still spreading slowly beneath her fingers, but it went unchecked to the both of them.

    “What’s so funny?” she exclaimed. The two women still in Morgan’s grip gave each other a tired and confused look.

    “N-No it’s just… The irony, oh man. It’s killing me you don’t understand.”

    _“What_ irony?!”

    _“This_ irony.”

  The two women began to scream, their wrists steaming in Morgan’s hands. He let them go and they both leapt away, clutching their wrists in agony. Before Tracie could escape Morgan grabbed her wrist with both of his hands, feeding heat into the both of them.

  She screamed as her hand erupted into steam so violently it seared away the flesh. The ice disappeared instantly as Tracie stumbled backwards.

  There was only a stump left where her left hand was, the wound instantly cauterized.

 

  Tracie screamed.

It was a scream more of loss than agony—Morgan didn’t understand _Vorvintti_ healing too well, but if the wound was cauterized there was a good chance that hand wasn’t growing back any time soon.

  Morgan toed the edge of disgust at himself and satisfaction at what he’d done. It was a very fine line that was decided the moment the two women, their hands almost healed, went in for another attack.

  He dispatched them quickly. They were small and light, all agility and speed. He easily tore the heart out of one as she went in for an enraged swipe, and tore straight through the neck of the other like tissue paper with his bare hands as she attempted to bite through his throat.

 

  A hushed groan of pain.

  He’d nearly forgotten.

Tracie was clutching the stump that remained of her hand, glaring daggers at Morgan sharp enough to kill.

  As the fire coursed through his veins, the wounds on the outside of his body visibly healed in seconds until there was nothing left of the fight from before besides his torn clothes.

  It infuriated Tracie beyond belief. He’d done it on purpose.

    “That isn’t yours… That’s not our… There’s no way you can have that power.”

  Morgan shrugged. He’d done this routine countless times already; all he had to do was wait until she realised who he was.

    “…I remember you.”

    _There it is._

“I was there. That man’s son… Roman _broke_ you. Rafaella she… she _killed_ you she…”  
    “Please, continue. I was too busy having my throat ripped out to really remember the events of that day.”

    “…She poured her blood into you, into your throat. To heal you, but she couldn’t have known that it—”

  Tracie gnawed at her lip.

    “‘Couldn’t have known’ _what?”_ he prompted impatiently.

    “Ask her yourself.”

    _“What_ couldn’t she have known?!” He grabbed her by the shoulders, hard. _“I need to know why I’m like this…!”_

  But she kept her mouth firmly shut in defiance. Morgan shoved her harshly aside; despite wanting to know what she meant, he desperately wanted to reign in his anger even more. He’d had enough of people dying at his hand before he could stop himself.

  With difficulty he turned away from her. “Leave.”

    “...?”

    “Get out. I’m not going to… kill you. You all have done enough.”

  A buzz drifted in his ear. Tracie stared at his back a few seconds more before reaching for the phone in her pocket with her right hand. Her eyes widened at the message she’d received. She held her phone upward for Morgan to see.

    “I guess we really _have_ done enough.”

 

  The message read:

 

    **We have Killian’s boy. Withdraw**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i miss love live, guys


	33. Like a Phoenix, Rising from the Ashes

****

    “He’s lost his mind.”

 

  The mutterings were hard to ignore as they rippled from one person to the next. No one mentioned it to Kaidyn—no one had the guts to approach him as he was—but the message reached him plain and clear:

  Morgan had lost it again.

He hadn’t even gotten the opportunity to scare anyone; all the fighting happened a floor below, and in less than five minutes, too. He was on-guard against any of the _Vorvintti_ that might’ve slipped past, but it seemed like… one managed to do just that.

  It was understandable Morgan might’ve been mad, but Kaidyn didn’t understand what he was mad _for._

He took it upon himself—bear form and all—to take the elevator up to the floor where he could hear a cacophony of screaming and something being destroyed.

  It was Erin’s floor.

  A familiar ache blossomed in the pit of Kaidyn’s stomach; he was anxious at what he might find. It had to be something bad, something terrible—he recognised the voice screaming, and he’d never heard Morgan so emotional before.

  He hoped it wasn’t Erin; _please_ not be Erin. Morgan had had enough in his life, if he lost his younger brother… It would destroy him. There’d be no turning back from that.

  Kaidyn found him breathing heavily, standing in the middle of the floor in Erin’s room.

The massive, expensive, and probably extremely heavy bed was upturned, blankets strewn on the floor. The closet door was wide open, as well as the door to the balcony onlooking the cityscape beyond. The concrete walls, painted cream, had holes peppered around the room, some even steaming as the blood around the edges dried.

  Kaidyn couldn’t see Morgan’s face, but his bloodied knuckles—too wounded to heal straight away they usually would—was enough to confirm Kaidyn’s greatest fear.

  Erin was nowhere to be found.

 

    _But where’s the body…?_

“…He isn’t dead.” Morgan’s voice was strained, hoarse. _“HE ISN’T DEAD…!”_ He screamed, turning to Kaidyn. His face was a bloody mess, scrunched up in both anger and agony. “They just took him,” he continued shakily, voice on the verge of tears. “They’ve taken him to get back at us—to get back at _me.”_

  But Kaidyn sensed the underlying doubt, the clash of reality and hope in his voice. Kaidyn had never seen him like this; he’d only ever seen Morgan cry once, and that was after he was turned. He had no idea how to deal with the emotional boy in front of him.

    _What can I do…?_ Kaidyn asked, hoping Morgan could hear him. _What can_ we _do?_

Morgan shook his head, great black tuffs of hair whipping around his head like a dark halo. “I don’t know, _I don’t know…!”_

  Glancing around the room, he looked for something else to vent his frustration on, but there was nothing else left. He settled on leaving his hands in rigid fists at his sides, grip so tight blood began to drip from between his fingers.

   Kaidyn was desperate to give him answers. _Something, anything! Why would they take him and—and keep him alive? Why not just k—do it here? If there’s a chance they’re keeping him alive for something… you could probably save him, Morg._

  Morgan loosened his grip, wiping his tears on the back of his sleeve. He took a great breath, letting it out slowly. Kaidyn let him calm down.

  Morgan turned back after what seemed like a few minutes, his face composed and free of tears. “I’ll find out. I’ll save him, and I’ll kill every last one of them for putting him in danger.”

  The fur on Kaidyn’s back stood on end.

  There was no emotion in Morgan’s voice whatsoever.

 

***

  Bronco had been having a shitty day.

 

  He should’ve been used to having shitty days by now. In the past year alone he’s had to deal with more issues within the _Akatsuki_ than he’s ever had to deal with before, and all from a single person. Morgan wasn’t a bad kid, really; he never was, even being what some would consider a juvie back when he was in high school. God, that seemed so long ago, but it was only a couple years and not even that. But Bronco, and in turn his boss Killian, had never had to deal with so much shit from the kid. If he had to equate it to anything, it was like trying to leash a crocodile that you’d raised by hand—it loved you, really, but it couldn’t forget its nature.

  No, that didn’t seem adequate. It was more like raising an ordinary domesticated dog from a puppy then having it one day inexplicably turn into a wild wolf. A wild wolf from hell.

  But he wasn’t a bad kid, and Bronco felt guilty equating him to an animal—however similar he might’ve been to one.

  That guilt was shoved aside pretty damn quickly once Morgan finished searching Erin’s floor for his younger brother in vain. Bronco visibly gulped as the kid slid on a heavy-leather jacket, rolling up the sleeves leaving his arms free to move and knotted up military-style boots up to his knees. He only carried two pistols in the waistband of his jeans and a meagre switchblade, but Bronco didn’t underestimate his abilities barehanded one bit.

  There was talk floating around that he’d single-handedly dispatched all the _Vorvintti_ that had come to slaughter them all, with only two guns at his disposal. The wounded that had escaped after he’d told them to leave were pretty talkative, especially about how he tore out a couple of vampire hearts with his bare hands.

  What Bronco _was_ concerned about was the fact that Morgan seemed very much prepared to storm the _Vorvintti_ base with backup there or not. It was one thing to fight a few vamps one-on-one, but a whole literal army was another. Bronco didn’t care how desperate Morgan was to save his brother—that didn’t mean he wasn’t as deeply unsettled by the little boy’s disappearance—he wasn’t going in alone.

 

  He took an uneasy breath, “You can’t go right now. At least, not alone.”

  Morgan paused knotting his laces, but ignored him after a moment and continued like he wasn’t interrupted at all.

  Despite himself Bronco clicked his tongue. “Don’t ignore me, Morgan.”

  With a jerking wrench as he finished the knot, Morgan stood to his full height, nearly a full head above Bronco’s. Bronco resisted taking a step back though every single instinct told him to run away. He wasn’t a coward. He could deal with a teenager.

    “You aren’t going to stop me.” He said it apathetically as he stared Bronco down through red-tinged eyes. Matter-of-fact, like he was describing the weather, there was no room for debate or consideration in his statement—he’d already decided he was going, and there was nothing that was going to change his mind.

  It was difficult to come up with an argument against such pure, unbiased impassiveness.

He pushed past Bronco, barely a brush against his shoulder, but it felt like he’d been bitten by a dog he’d known for years anyway; it was the coldest of cold shoulders he’d ever felt.

  Morgan paused. There was light at the end of the tunnel after all.

    “Get everyone ready. We move in ten minutes.”

 

  Precisely ten minutes later, the entirety of what remained of _Akatsuki’s_ troops, plus some borrowed kitsune from the _Aohi_ gang, stood in haphazard rows around the portal opposite the main hall.

  It was an appalling effort for a rescue mission. But it was all Bronco had managed to gather on such short notice. They were going into a suicide mission and everyone knew it—he could see it on the faces of the gathered crowd around him, though the kitsune seemed a lot more prepared to fight than his men. And they had every right to be, with some of their troops captured. But it wasn’t an impressive gathering. And it definitely wasn’t one Bronco thought he could win with.

  But what choice… did he have?

 

    “Morgan.”

  Everyone, including Bronco, turned toward the source of the voice from the head of the stairs.

  Killian.

  And he wasn’t pleased. Morgan was the last to turn to his father; he did it slowly, deliberately, every movement carefully thought-out and executed until he was eying down Killian through jaded eyes. Bronco felt his stomach doing somersaults—it was like watching fire and ice about to wage war.

    “…What are you doing?” Killian asked in a low voice, as though talking to a child caught doing something it knows it shouldn’t.

  It took Morgan a moment to answer, but Bronco saw a nearly imperceptible narrowing of his eyes before he righted his expression. “I’m saving my brother’s life.”

    “By sacrificing your own?” Killian asked, a note of anger creeping into his voice as he descended the stairs.

    “…If anyone’s being sacrificed it’s them.” Bronco expected Morgan to be angry, expected some emotion as he boldly declared death on the _Vorvintti._ But there was nothing.

  Killian hesitated for a split-second, but continued down the red-carpeted staircase. “Even if you think you’re powerful enough to make a difference, you’d sacrifice your own men? _My_ men,” he turned and looked every soldier in the eye “that I _haven’t given orders?”_

  Most of the soldiers glanced away uneasily, but the kitsune didn’t back down. They weren’t his soldiers, in any case. Morgan had greater ties to them than Killian could ever claim, being the son of the previous _Aohi_ boss, and the nephew of the current one.

    “I’m not forcing them to fight. This is their choice.”

  Bronco felt slightly inclined to disagree—he’d ordered the troops to prepare because he didn’t want to see Morgan killed, but he couldn’t say that without—probably—pissing the kid off.

  Killian seemed to have similar thoughts. “They’re only following you because they care about you, Morgan. They don’t want to see you go off on an impossible suicide mission.”

  Morgan tilted his head slightly, like a scientist observing an animal. “Aren’t you bothered at all?”

  Killian was caught off guard. “Of course I am. He’s my son—”

    “Then why are you trying to stop me?”

  ‘Trying’, Bronco noted. He left no room to consider Killian had a fighting chance.

    “Because I don’t want to lose _both_ my children in case we can’t get him back.”

    “And how long will it take to organise a proper rescue team? Days? Weeks? _Months?_ Every second we waste is a second he’s in enemy hands, a second closer to the possibility of his death.”

    “…That may be true,” Killian said after a moment. Bronco felt his boss’ will braking just a fraction. “But you can’t hope to overcome Rafaella and her army with just a few dozen soldiers and some kitsune.”

    “I’m not hoping anything. If they fail, I’ll continue on my own. If I can prevent their deaths, I’ll do it. If they die and I can’t do anything about it, I’ll keep going. They’re here to help, but I won’t force them to lay down their lives for this.”

  The blood in Bronco’s veins ran cold. He didn’t say it outright, but he felt the double meaning behind his words; they were _insurance_. Expendable, if he couldn’t help them dying. Fodder. Morgan would never… he’d never think or say things like that about his own comrades, his own _family._

  It had been tingling at the back of Bronco’s mind, but he recognised where he’d seen those cold, unfeeling eyes before.

  They were Rafaella’s eyes.

 

  Killian was very thoroughly defeated. “...Alright,” he said with a heavy sigh, leaning on the banister for support. “Save my son.”

  Morgan gave him a curt nod, barely a tilt of his head, before stepping through the portal. The kitsune followed proudly, their bodies tensed in preparation for a fight. The rest of the _Akatsuki_ were uneasy, including Bronco, but eventually they too passed through the portal and into the night beyond.

 

***

  Gladiolus Manor was on the outskirts of twelfth district, far enough removed from the middle of the city so as not to draw attention to itself, but close enough to easily be accessible by those that lived there and any guests that might drop by. It wasn’t a place you’d overlook easily—a grand, double storey mansion straight out of an English period drama, with masterwork pillars and cornices shaped into intricate designs, marble steps leading up to a polished oak front door and overripe apple trees surrounding a massive front yard fringed by a high hedge—it was incredibly conspicuous.

  At least, it would be… in its prime. The building was probably over a hundred years old, and hadn’t been maintained at all in the past decade. The once beautiful white paint was peeling of the walls like banana skin, the apple trees encroaching on the house claiming back its land. A sea of grass whistled in the night air as loudly as the trees, only a small trampled path leading up to the rusting ironwork of the oak door the only indication that someone had been there recently at all. It looked more like a haunted mansion than a rich lord’s home.

  But the most noticeable thing, to Morgan at least, was the flowers. It was the largest amount of varied flowers he’d ever seen. Soft purple violets grew beside vibrant red tulips, golden chrysanthemums and delicate orchids grew beside each other along with lilies and daffodils. Freesias, dahlias, carnations, camellias, and—the most abundant—roses of an immense range of colours and sizes… the list was endless; there were so many flowers, of such variation and colour, Morgan couldn’t even name half of them. He was also pretty sure these were growing way out of season, and some might not have even been compatible with the climate, or the other flowers around it. More so than the towering mansion falling to pieces, the sheer volume of flowers was what stood out to Morgan the most.

  He stopped between the overgrown hedges serving as the entrance to the mansion’s yard, a myriad of beautiful smells rolling off his tongue and making his head spin. The most poignant of all, though, the one smell he couldn’t quite get out of his head… was _hers_. He could smell her then, his new sense of smell amplifying the human memory he had of her scent. A shiver of anticipation tore its way up his spine.

 

    “…Should we go in?”

  A kitsune beside him leaned in and whispered in his ear, placing her hand gently on his arm. She’d probably mistaken his shiver for cold. But she was right, in any case. They had a job to do.

  Morgan nodded, stepping in between the hedges and following the concealed marble path toward the front door, his comrades cautiously following close behind. There weren’t any guards by the front door, at least not any Morgan could sense, which struck him as strange. This was _Rafaella’s_ mansion, for crying out loud—of all the _Vorvintti,_ shouldn’t her protection be the priority? Weren’t they _expecting_ them?

  Morgan slowly made his way up the steps, careful to keep his boots from scuffing the marble. He placed his ear against the wooden front door, closing his eyes as he listened to the other side. Voices. Movement. Life—too much activity for him to take in all at once. He tried focusing his hearing instead, sorting through the mass of noises until he found something useful.

  He couldn’t hear Erin at all. It wasn’t something to get worked up over, though… That didn’t necessarily mean he was d—in pain, or anything, right? He might’ve just been so deep with the mansion walls, even Morgan’s hearing couldn’t penetrate. It wasn’t something to stress over. Calm down.

  …And just like that, Morgan was calm. The moment he had the thought, his body—and mind—had obliged instantly, like pulling a light-switch. It was impractical, and dangerous, for him to lose his cool here. His brother, and all his troops, were counting on him.

  Morgan tried sifting through the noises once again, his mind better focused now at the task. Someone mentioned the _Akatsuki,_ drawing Morgan’s attention.

 

    “…You don’t think they’re actually _coming here,_ do you?” a female voice said, _Vorvintti_ or something else, Morgan couldn’t tell.

    “I dunno anymore,” another voice—a male—answered. “The guys we sent haven’t returned, only that one dude with the kid.”

  The first voice grew silent for a moment. “…What a dumbass. What’s a kid gonna do? I bet they’re all taking their sweet ass time and enjoying it. _That_ guy gave that up just to bring some human kid over?”

  Morgan couldn’t see it, but he imagined the second voice’s owner shrugging. “Maybe he knows something we don’t.”

    “And what’s that, smart ass?” the woman asked.

    “Apparently it was one of us that did it. That killed Megan.”

  Morgan peeled his ear away from the door, not wanting to hear anymore. A man had kidnapped Erin, and even the rest of the _Vorvintti_ didn’t really have a clue why. They weren’t concerned about the vampires they’d sent to kill the _Akatsuki;_ they just assumed they were taking their time. Morgan was stunned at their naivety. …And simultaneously grateful—he still had an edge in his very existence. He was counting on that in making it out of this alive.

 

  Perking his ears once again and taking out the pistols from his jeans—both equipped with silencers for good measure—he listened in until he was certain there wasn’t anyone directly behind the door. Then he gently pushed the wrought-iron handle inwards, preying the old wood wouldn’t creak.

  It didn’t. He let out a tense breath he didn’t even know he was holding and slipped inside. The split second he went in, Morgan had the realisation that slipping in through the front door probably wasn’t the best thing to do in avoiding a full-on fight with the _Vorvintti._ But he needn’t have worried.

  He stepped into a small foyer that must’ve been fancy years ago, but now was devoid of furniture, with walls covered in peeling wallpaper of long faded colours, and rotting floorboards. A boarded up wall on the far side of the foyer separated the room from the rest of the house, the only exits being firmly closed doors branching to the left and right. It was a massive place, bigger than it seemed on the outside. A plan began to form in Morgan’s mind.

  With a flick of his wrist, he indicated the rest of the _Akatsuki_ to follow him. They shuffled their way clumsily inside, desperately trying to keep quiet but struggling not to bump into each other.

    “Okay. Half the kitsune and my men will go to the left, the other half to the right—” Morgan clicked his tongue as the _Akatsuki_ began putting their arms out, like a spontaneous rendition of the Macarena. “The fuck is wrong with you guys?” he hissed.

  Bronco was the one to answer, looking in the vague direction of where Morgan was standing. “…We can’t see.”

  Morgan resisted groaning. “It’s not even that dark in here.”

  Bronco frowned, tired and exasperated, before reaching into his pocket and taking out his phone. He thumbed it a couple of times, and bright torchlight burst from the other side. Morgan covered his eyes. “It might not be dark for you, but it is for us.”

  Morgan harrumphed by way of answer. “Fine. Like I said, half of the kitsune and the _Akatsuki_ will go left,” he gestured to the corridor leading off to the west wing, “—and the other half will go right,” he flung his left arm to the east wing. “I’ll go with the right team. Just a feeling. So there probably needs to be more kitsune in the left team, to compensate.”

  The kitsune nodded, easily taking his orders like trained military. His own men didn’t seem nearly as resolved, but did as he asked anyway. The groups divided, most having taken out their phones to navigate. Bronco stayed with Morgan, not to Morgan’s surprise. Taking the lead with gun in hand Morgan led his group to the east wing

 

  He stopped himself just in time before opening the door to the east side of the house—a small sliver of light slipped from underneath the door, the sounds of a television reaching his ears. He put his finger to his lips, looking back at his men. They nodded their collective ascent as he quietly pushed the door open.

  It broke the immersion. The ‘haunted house’ feeling Morgan had been having entirely vanished at the huge plasma screen fixed to the wall on the opposite side of the room. Only the top of a head was visible of the person furiously tapping away at a gaming controller in their hands, the TV blaring noise into the strangely empty living room—besides the television and couch the mystery person was using, there was no other piece of furniture, not even a lamp or a chair.

  How lucky.

  Morgan couldn’t kill them just yet, no matter how good his vantage point was—this person might just know where his brother was being held. He strode forward silently and pressed the gun to the visible part of the gamer’s head. They stiffened, dropping the controller instantly.

    “Stand up. Hands on your head.”

  The gamer, ruffled blond hair the only thing Morgan could see, stood up slowly, placing their hands above their head as they did.

    “Okay. No sudden moves. Turn around.”

  They turned around slowly, the small smile playing at their lips broadening the moment they laid their blue eyes on Morgan.

 

  Roman.

  The vampire that broke his jaw, his wrist, his leg.

 

The vampire was ecstatic. “Hey, look who it—”

 

  Morgan didn’t even use the gun.

  It clattered to the ground as he punched the vampire square in the nose.


	34. Evil for Evil

 

  Roman was startled, to say the least.

 

    “J-Jesus…! The fuck man…” he spluttered while clutching his bleeding nose. The blood didn’t steam away, but it did stop flowing almost instantly. With immense satisfaction, Morgan noted Roman’s nose was broken, making an S-shape.

    _Say goodbye to those good looks, pretty boy,_ he thought.

  Roman patted his nose gently. “You… you broke it, asshole!”

  Morgan’s eyes narrowed. Roman didn’t seem too angry, or scared. Just inconvenienced. Annoyed. Morgan was being underestimated once again.

  That won’t last long.

  Grasping his nose firmly, Roman drew in an anxious breath then righted the bone with a sickening crunch. Looks like pretty boy was safe, for now.

  Morgan looked back at his men. “Go on ahead, but not too far. I’ll be done here soon.”

The group nodded, but Bronco shook his head. “I’d rather stay with you. Killian would—”

    “Yeah, okay. Fine, fine. Just don’t interfere,” Morgan supplied without anger. He hadn’t really thought Bronco would go ahead anyway.

    “Don’t worry,” Bronco glanced at Roman, not outright smiling, but more of a shadow of a smile ghosting his lips. “I won’t lift a finger. This prick deserves what’s coming.”

  Roman frowned, but didn’t say anything as Bronco went to lean against the wall away from the two vampires.

 

  Cracking his neck, Morgan threw both his guns to the side. “Where’s my brother?”

    “That kid was your _brother?_ Man, you just can’t catch a break,” Roman said with a smile.

    “ _‘Was’_ my brother?” Morgan’s hands were beginning to shake. He tightened them into fists at his sides.

  Roman shrugged. “Probably dead by now—”

  Morgan’s vision went red. He had Roman pinned to the ground before he’d even formed a coherent thought. In the back of his mind it reminded him of the time Roman held _his_ life in his hands. It gave him an idea. He placed both his hands over Roman’s arms, covering his pale hands.

  With only a little bit of pressure, Morgan snapped both of Roman’s wrists.

  Roman cried out, but didn’t scream any more than that. Nevertheless it was still music to Morgan’s ears.

    _“Jesus fucking motherfucking fuck…!”_ Morgan got up, leaving the vampire to squirm on the ground holding his arms to his chest. Morgan kicked him lightly.

    “Get up, that was nothing.”

  To Morgan’s surprise, the vampire stopped fidgeting almost immediately. Using just his legs, Roman hoisted himself to his feet, his eyes now completely devoid of mirth—ice cold.

    “You’ve gotten tougher since last time,” he said simply. But he didn’t seem like he believed that was all.

    “Had a good motivator.” Morgan tapped his throat, the spot where Rafaella had torn it out. “You don’t know if my brother is dead or not, do you?”

  The two began to circle each other slowly, neither realising what they were doing—two predators sizing each other up.

    “No, I don’t know for sure,” Roman answered. “But I doubt it. He’s technically a hostage, so…”

  Morgan felt a modicum of relief… but it wasn’t enough to placate him entirely. “Where is he?”

  Roman’s eyes were cold as he answered, “Probably in the torture room, where we take all the hostages.”

  Morgan tilted his head, expression neutral. “Just curious, but do you happen to know what’s the most painful bone to break in the body is? I’m speaking from experience, here.”

  Roman looked baffled, his frigid exterior breaking. “I dunno, the _wrist_ maybe?”

  Morgan shook his head, like a teacher would to a student with a wrong answer. This time he allowed his body to move on its own, allowed the instinct—his muscle memory—to carry him forward. He kicked forward at Roman’s gut, angling his kick in such a way that it’d send the vampire crashing to ground, but not too far away.

    “It’s _this,”_ he said as he stood over Roman’s body. He stamped as hard as he could into Roman’s thigh, feeling the bone give way with a resounding _crack_ underneath his booted heel. This time Roman screamed. The swearing was so intense Morgan was going to need to wash his ears when he got back home.

  But he wasn’t done. Roman was too incapacitated to retaliate, too blinded by pain to realise what he was doing. Placing his boot on the other leg, Morgan broke the other bone beneath his heel like a twig.

  It was a sound unlike anything he’d ever heard.

The agony was palpable, a myriad of sounds that clashed like music in his ears—the tortured screams; the crunch of bone beneath his feet, the two splinters grating against each other like stone; the rushed intakes of ragged breaths; the jumble of pained and confused thoughts…

    “Oh…. You, piece of _shit…!_ How the fuck— _what_ the fuck..?! I don’t get it, I kicked your _ass_ before, how…?” Roman was moaning in pain and complaining both at once, a pretty impressive feat.

    “Where’s the torture room?” Morgan asked impatiently, kicking one of Roman’s feet and eliciting an agonised groan.

    “…M-Master bedroom. Down this hall right through that door—” he nodded toward a door to the right of the plasma screen “—go left at the guest bedroom, then straight down to the other side of the house. Just don’t go into the great room if you value your life.”

    “The what?”

    “…It’s Rafaella’s room.”

  Morgan’s whole body tensed. He knew she was here _somewhere,_ or that she lived here, but… he didn’t expect to run into her so soon, didn’t expect her to be right _there._ He wasn’t ready, he wasn’t prepared… he didn’t want to see her.

  He turned to leave, abandoning Roman on the floor until he called out to him.

    “Hey,” Roman called, his voice soft and somewhat gentle. “If it’s… any consolation, at all, I don’t think they would have killed him, just yet.”

    _Fuck, imagine what he’d do if the kid’s dead._ Involuntarily, Morgan overheard Roman’s thoughts.

    “…Thanks,” Morgan said with a smile…

…before he kicked Roman in the jaw. Hard. Hard enough to break bone. Roman skidded across the rotting floorboards, coming to rest against the wall.

    _“Why,_ ashole?! Whad da puck?!”

  Morgan shrugged. “Eye for an eye. At least you’ll heal straight away.”

Before he left Morgan felt a surprising number of emotions from the usually unfeeling _Vorvintti’s_ thoughts: pain, predominantly; surprise and a little bit of adoration—but only a small bit of anger. He couldn’t believe it, but he got the impression Roman believed he _deserved_ his broken bones. ‘An eye for an eye’—compensation.

  The _Vorvintti_ were evil pieces of work, but you couldn’t deny their sense of accountability. Although, Roman _was_ half-human—maybe this impromptu debt was from his human side, not his vampire one.

  Morgan shrugged it off—they were evil, that was all. Straight to the core. They had his brother as a hostage, they’d destroyed his family, his home, his _life—_ it was a little too early to put down the resentment he felt. He’d need to hold on to it, just a little bit longer.

 

***

_Ten minutes earlier_

 

Cold.

  Wrists were cold, chaffed.

  Voices. Screams. Crying. Swearing.

  He pretended to be asleep, just a little bit longer. Just a little bit longer, and he wouldn’t have to see—wouldn’t have to wake up to the world. He could pretend he was alone, pretend he was still safe at home, and none of this was happening. Pretend everything was the way it was before they came.

 

    “You need to wake up, little one.”

 

  Erin opened his eyes slowly, pretending he’d just been woken and was still groggy. The fact was he couldn’t be any more awake; his stomach pained him with a dull persistent ache of anxiety and fear, his body racked by uncontrollable shaking. Every noise sent adrenaline rushing into his veins, sent his heart hammering against his chest.

  He was chained to a long beam set into the wall low off the ground, the chain long enough for him to just keep his hands on the ground. The kitsune chained to the wall beside him weren’t so lucky—their wrists were tied above their heads, making it impossible for them to move or get leverage.

  The kitsune to his left—a pretty girl with jet-black bangs and eyes as gold as the sun—was the one who woke him, gently nudging him with her knee.

    “You need to get out of here,” she said gently but urgently.

    “H-How…?” Erin stammered. To the best of his knowledge, there was no way he could get free of the cuffs; admittedly they were a little loose on him, but…

    “We’ll help you get out. We’ll distract _him.”_

  Erin shivered as the kitsune brought up the vampire that had imprisoned them. He didn’t want to think about those cold hands grasping his neck in the dark, those knife-sharp fangs whispering close to his neck, the rough voice like gravel crunching underfoot that sneered imagined tortures into his ears. He didn’t want to think about it.

  Literally shaking the thoughts from his head, Erin asked again, “How?”

  The kitsune winked at him, and Erin blushed. “We’re smarter than we look,” she said.

And before Erin’s very own eyes, the pretty girl in front of him shrunk inside her clothes, the exposed skin of her arms and face growing black fur as she shrunk down. With a clatter, the chains holding her arms fell to the ground once she pulled her tiny wrists through.

  Erin could only blink in surprise for a couple of seconds before a black fox emerged from the folds of the girl’s clothes. He looked around at the other three women, surprised to find that they too had shrunk down into foxes—one red, the other two grey.

  He tracked the black fox’s movements as she padded toward a clinical-looking table, then shifted back into human form as quickly as she turned. With an alarmed ‘eep!’ Erin looked away from the now naked girl. He heard the girl laugh softly, the other foxes’ chuckling, and the chink of metal as she came back and used one of the instruments from the table to skilfully pick the lock on his handcuffs.

    “Erin,”

    “Are you still naked?” Erin asked quickly

    “…Yes. Okay, don’t turn around, but listen very carefully,” the girl answered.

  Erin nodded his head, his eyes scrunched firmly closed.

    “Me, Mimiko and Tomoko—the grey foxes—are going to be your distraction. Mai—the red fox—is going to be your protector, and help you out—you have a very important job, Erin.”

  Erin’s lips trembled just slightly. He tried to hide it, but he knew the kitsune must’ve seen. “I know this is difficult, and it’s cruel to give this job to a child, but there is _no one_ else left. Morgan is here—” Erin couldn’t help opening his eyes with a gasp. He shut them quickly, but hope and worry mingled in his chest at the prospect of Morgan coming to save him. “—But he’ll need your help— _our_ help, if he has any hope of defeating Rafaella. He can’t fight her alone—”

  The kitsune’s voice cut off quickly. Erin opened his eyes, but kept them trained ahead at the red fox in front of him. Her nose was poised toward the door, her tail hovered in the air behind her while she turned her head to listen.

    “…What is it?” Erin whispered.

  The kitsune didn’t say anything for several tense moments, until all at once they simultaneously relaxed. “We don’t have much time,” the girl continued faster. “Erin, you _must_ find the Chrysalis.”

  A flash of memories burst behind Erin’s closed eyelids—the raid, the terror he felt at not only his life, but the lives of his family and friends. His brother, battered, broken and dead, like a child’s tired toy. His father’s concern and anguish, the only time he’d ever seen him like that before. The deal he made to save Morgan’s life, the one that ultimately destroyed it. All, for one tiny crystal.

  Erin made a pained noise. In sensing his sudden distress the kitsune placed her palms against Erin’s cheeks even as he squeezed his eyes clothed. He felt the presence of the other three kitsune coming to sit beside him.

    “Your brother’s life is in your hands. _Our_ lives are in your hands, Erin. We can protect you, we can cause a distraction, but we can’t search for it on our own. The Chrysalis is a holy weapon… we can’t touch it. Only _you_ can. For all our supernatural powers, our lives rely on _you.”_

It was too much.

  He was just a _kid…_ this was too much for him, too much for anyone his age. He thought about Morgan, out there somewhere, probably losing his mind looking for him. He thought of the kind kitsune, risking their lives to let him walk out safely. He thought about all the other _Akatsuki_ at home, how, even though they weren’t related, he couldn’t imagine his life without them in it.

  He was just a kid… but he had held the lives of dozens of people in his hands.

 

  Erin nodded, steeling his resolve and finally meeting the kitsune’s eyes.

    “Alright,” the girl began, her voice relieved. “Mai will take you to the Chyrsalis—it’s in a little side room on the other side of the mansion where they keep all their riches. You’ll have to sneak around if you don’t want to attract too much attention, but from the sounds of things it looks like reinforcements might’ve already arrived.” She beamed, and Erin couldn’t help but return the smile. “Just grab it, then sneak out if you can’t meet up with reinforcements or your brother. I can’t tell what it’ll be like out there, but trust your instincts if you feel like something’s wrong.”

  He nodded, this time with a little less resolve. The idea was sounding more and more far-fetched the longer he listened.

    “Okay,” she stood, the warmth radiating from her body suddenly disappearing, leaving him cold and suddenly, overwhelmingly alone. He shut his eyes once again quickly. “I’m going to take a peek outside, just to check if _he’s_ still around.”

  The sound of bare feet kissing the ground, then the grinding of the metal door as the kitsune slowly pulled it open. After several tense moments, the girl finally whispered, “C’mon!”

  Erin gingerly got to his feet, his legs cramped from having sat still for so long. Making his way to the door—the red fox, Mai, ghosting his footsteps—he looked at the kitsune girl one last time, careful not to glance anywhere but at her face.

    “Thank you,” he said sincerely.

    “We should be thanking you, little one,” she said with a sad smile.

  Erin stepped through the door, then turned back, remembering something. “Oh, I don’t know your name…”

  The girl smiled, her teeth milky white in contrast to the glittering gold of her eyes.

    “It’s Hanami.”


	35. Salvaged

****

  He forgot, sometimes.

  Forgot that he was surrounded by gangsters, mobsters; people notorious for sowing the seeds of malicious intent and destruction. Forgot the fact that, just as much as he was capable on his own, his comrades were just as good, even more so considering that not all of them had supernatural powers to back themselves up.

  Morgan was strongly reminded that the _Akatsuki_ were in their own right a capable military force years before he was even born as he stepped over a corpse and surveyed the destruction before him. The small squad he’d sent ahead had quickly run into a group of _Vorvintti—_ thankfully none of them actual vampires—relaxing in a bedroom-turned-lounge decked out in peeling butter wallpaper, sofas with the stuffing spilling out onto the rotting floorboards and a TV on low in the corner. They’d made impressively short work of them, without even making a sound.

  Morgan was impressed.

    _“Wow,”_ he whistled. “I didn’t even hear a thing.”

  The _Akatsuki_ collectively beamed. The kitsune were nonplussed—this was probably child’s play to them.

  Bronco was similarly impressed, but glanced around uneasily. “Good work, guys, but we probably shouldn’t stall here.”

  Morgan nodded. “Yeah, he’s right. We should get—”

  He froze. A twinge, an uneasy flutter of wings in his stomach, the tell-tale beginnings of anxiety—and fear. A warning of the future, his subconscious body telling him something was wrong. He hadn’t been in danger enough in the past few months for him to really feel it, for his instincts to kick in, but they were on fire now.

    “Something’s wrong,” he said just above a whisper.

  The kitsune narrowed their eyes, their bodies growing rigid. Some leaned their heads to the side, like animals listening for danger. Others glanced about uneasily, and yet some few surreptitiously sniffed the air.

  Couldn’t they tell?

  Couldn’t they _feel_ the wrongness in the air?

  With a click of his tongue, Morgan shoved his way to the head of the group, indicating the others to follow. If this feeling was anything to go by, they were probably running out of time. He pulled the door to the bedroom open, glanced outside into an empty hallway, then crossed over to the bathroom on the other side with his men close behind.

 

  Morgan pulled open the door, opting to cut across the bathroom rather than the hallway leading to the master bedroom to the left. It would be troublesome to be flanked in case anyone was hiding out in there.

  A yelp.

  Someone was in there. He shoved the door open against the person desperately trying to keep it closed on the other side. They screamed in alarm. Morgan hesitated at the man sitting on the toilet, his pants down to his ankles.

    “It’s… occupied…” the man whispered fearfully at the armed squadron filing into the small space.

  Morgan shrugged then pressed past the poor guy. “When you gotta’ go…”

  Opening the door opposite and into the small hallway beyond, the group came face-to-face with a large, reinforced metal door. The door was open.

  And there was just one figure standing inside.

 

  The butterflies tingling across Morgan’s nerves grew stronger, gooseflesh running rampant across his skin.

He held his hand out back toward his men, willing them to stay behind him, stay silent. He stepped forward alone, into the room that looked more like a bomb shelter on the outside than a master bedroom.

  But there was no doubt, as he glanced around in his periphery, that _this_ was the torture room.

He spied a myriad of builder’s tools turned into torture devices, syringes filled with mysterious liquids, and silver-edged blades of every shape and form glittering around the walls in pristine condition.

  The figure turned around slowly at the crunch of Morgan’s heel.

  He was crying. Red tears traced bloody tracks across his olive cheeks, the mass of black curls atop his head in disarray. He didn’t seem to be in pain, not physically at least. He just seemed terribly…upset.

 

    “She…she took my toy,” the vampire said slowly as he glanced behind him.

 

  Morgan followed his gaze. He sucked in a breath.

Two corpses mutilated beyond recognition, lay in a puddle of blood behind him. Both were stark-naked women with jet-black hair and fine-china skin, their bodies torn apart as if by a vicious, vindictive animal.

  Except their faces. Their faces were clear as day, their death-stares locked forever in torment.

  They were kitsune.

    “I was just _playing_ with her,” the vampire continued. “She didn’t have to spoil it…”

  Morgan was rooted to the spot. He couldn’t move, couldn’t say a word. If he moved even so much as a single muscle he was afraid of what he might do. Instead he attempted to rifle through the vampire’s memories, focusing as much of himself as he could on the task.

  It was there, clear as day. The vampire had a skewed perception, his mind focusing only on what he _wanted_ to see, but it was there among the delicious memories of carnage: he’d taken the kitsune—and Erin—hostage, but they’d managed to escape. Only three kitsune remained for whatever reason, probably as a distraction. The vampire had gotten so inexplicably angry, he’d… snapped. He’d killed the two grey foxes, their corpses reverting back to human form in their deaths, but by then—

  _She_ appeared.

  She’d heard the commotion, smelled the blood and viscera—she’d come to stop him. She dragged the final kitsune left alive from the torture chamber, now _her_ toy to play with. She smiled like a spoilt child with a new plaything taken from another, the kitsune’s chin in her palm.

  The kitsune with golden eyes and raven-black hair.

  Hanami.

 

  For the first time in a very, _very_ long time, Morgan felt fear.

  Pure, raw, unadulterated _fear._ It was a fear built up not from the risk to his own life, but for the potential loss of someone else’s. Someone important to him.

    “I was only playing… only playing…” the vampire whispered between sobs.

  Morgan was shaking, both in fear, and in a rising heat of anger. “…Shut up.”

    “I did nothing wrong! Why was _she_ so special…? She was the prettiest of them all… I would’ve had so much fun with her…”

    “Shut _the fuck up…!”_ He pinned the vampire up against a wall set with a row of handcuffs, his fingers locked around the _Vorvintti’s_ neck. The rest of the squad rushed in at the commotion, the kitsune running ahead.

  They stopped in their tracks.

  It was painful for Morgan to see, but he couldn’t imagine what the kitsune were feeling. He hadn’t known the girls, but… He saw it as they rushed around the corpses and knelt beside their fallen comrades. Tasted the despair and demon blood on his tongue. The way they clenched their hands to their chests, just as anguished as any human, probably even more so with all the hundreds of years behind them. He couldn’t hear their thoughts because of the pearl earrings in their ears, but he could imagine what that kind of loss would be like after the decades—and even centuries—together.

  It was painful.

  It was too painful for him to bare, to see. His life hadn’t been long enough for him to comprehend that kind of loss. With a shuddered breath, he locked his heart away, visualised once again the little box where he could shove all the hurt, the pain, the hindrance of emotion. It was difficult this time, the feelings were too strong— like trying to block off a powerful river with nothing but your bare hands.

  But it wasn’t impossible.

The vampire was whimpering, but he was dejected more at the loss of Hanami than the fingers wrapped around his neck. Morgan glared into the vampire’s onyx eyes, the only hint of colour a faint green glowing of his vertical pupils. He was a _Vorvintti,_ but he probably wasn’t related to Rafaella.

    “Where’s Erin now?” he asked in a low voice.

  The vampire didn’t answer immediately. Morgan shook him roughly, banging the vamp’s head against the wall.

    “The little kid, do you know where he is?”

    “Gone! Ran away. I don’t know…! Don’t care!” Morgan rifled through the vampire’s memories to be safe, but came up only with what he’d found out before: at some point Erin had escaped with one of the kitsune, but after that… nothing. This guy obviously didn’t know anything else. That same uneasy feeling was beginning to crawl its way back into Morgan’s stomach.

  He had his eyes trained on the vampire, but he heard the light steps of the kitsune’s feet as they came and surrounded the both of them. One of the girls put her hand gently on his arm, the one holding the vampire to the wall.

    “Let us deal with him.” She said it gently, but the underlying anger and blood-thirsty rage underneath her voice loosened Morgan’s grip immediately. The kitsune grabbed the vampire by the shoulders before he slid to the ground.

    “Rafaella—their leader has Hanami,” Morgan said.

  The kitsune that had touched his arm looked at him quickly, her eyes betraying nothing.

    “I’m going to go save her,” he continued.

  She nodded in response, giving him a quick smile. She didn’t say anything else, didn’t need to. The kitsune were good like that; they never said anything unnecessary, never felt the need to fill up silence with conversation. She had total faith in him, she expected him to come back with Hanami, alive.

  He just wished he had that kind of confidence in himself.

  Walking out of the torture chamber, the remaining members of his squad behind him, Morgan closed the door just as he heard the now fearful whimpering of the _Vorvintti_ locked inside.

 

.***

    “You sure it’s safe?”

  The fox looked back and dipped her white-tipped muzzle as Erin crept down the stairwell. Her footing was light and sure, tapping at the old floorboards as she checked for squeaking. The pair and just managed to slip past their captor and fled into the room opposite the hall, where a small staircase lead up into the unused rooms on the second floor. From there they had a direct route to the other side of the mansion whilst avoiding Rafaella on the first floor.

  Erin was more than grateful. Never in his short life had he come across an adult that had scared him as much as her, not even his father when he was mad.

  The fox—Mai, Erin remembered—padded down to the bottom step, her head tilted as she listened. Erin held his breath, but released it after a moment when Mai relaxed and continued on ahead, indicating him to follow. He was shaking as he hit the bottom step and glanced around—to his right was a massive oak door, the only clue to what was on the other side a string of strangely feminine groaning and screams. A twinge of fear raced up Erin’s spine; it was the like the howling of a ghost. Shaking his head, he followed Mai to the left, down a small hall barely illuminated by a few dimly lit sconces on the peeling walls. For a place meant to be the home of the _Vorvintti,_ it felt strangely empty.

  Mai stopped at a closed door at the end of the small walkway and leaned her ear against the wood. After a moment, she nodded for Erin, then glanced back at the door handle.

    “You want me to open it?” Erin asked as he joined her.

  The fox nodded. Erin wrapped his fingers against the cold metal, then twisted.

  Nothing. The door was locked. Erin begun to panic just slightly.

    “Is the chrysa-thing-a-majig really in there?”

  Erin imagined Mai narrowing her eyes at him as she nodded. She glanced back at the handle, then placed her paws against the wood so that she was standing on her hind legs. She tapped her muzzle against the metal—to Erin’s amazement, the metal began to glow white-hot beneath her nose, but it didn’t seem to pain Mai. After a moment, a resounding _click_ reached his ears as the metal returned to normal. Mai fell back onto all fours, looking about as smug as a fox could look.

    “Cool,” Erin supplied as he turned the cold metal of the handle and went inside.

  It was a cave of treasures. That is, of course, if you count weapons of every size, model and era as treasures. Scattered amongst the mundane diamonds, pearls and gold were guns and pistols of every size, with every conceivable ammunition ranging from ordinary bullets to plasma cannons. Sorcerer’s staffs of unimaginable power were propped against the walls like decorations; priceless, glittering blades of all kinds, from broadswords to spears, daggers to halberds, were haphazardly discarded in messy piles around the large storage space. Conspicuous armour, both medieval with their inlay of glowing crystal and modern with their sleek design, were carelessly hung on various coatracks around the room with more ordinary looking clothes hung beside them.

  Erin was somewhat hurting inside at the blatant disregard for priceless artefacts around him. Mai was sniffing the space, glancing around with what Erin imagined to be just about the same amount of disdain.

    “So where’s the crystal?” Erin whispered as he stepped over a fallen lance carefully—the windows were covered with something thick and black, so he was making his way around with just the ethereal glow from the various crystals and enchanted objects around him.

  Mai padded forward, easily slipping around and over the various treasures with feline grace. She sniffed around a little bit as she tracked down her prey. Erin waited patiently, but was beginning to grow worried—now would be the _worst_ time for someone to find the two of them.

  He needn’t worry much more; Mai sniffed around a pile of various clothes and furs, snicking her nose deep into the fold of the fabric as she struggled to drag something out. After a few seconds of fox yips and a fluffy white tail wagging around under Erin’s nose, Mai dragged a box-like object out from under the clothes with her teeth. It was eight-sided and maroon in colour, tied with thin string that Mai had clamped between her front teeth. She dropped the box into Erin’s outstretched hand. As the box touched his skin, Erin was so startled he nearly dropped it—the box was… warm. Warm and _alive_ —there was a definite pulse beating faintly against his palm. He gently pulled at the string’s knot. It came away easily under his fingers, like it _wanted_ to be undone. With slightly shaking hands, he pulled the top of the box away… and gasped.

  The chrysalis.

  It was just like how he remembered it from a year before. No, not even his memories truly gave it justice—it was brighter, warmer, with a more vibrant pattern of colours than even he remembered. A light, brighter than anything else in the room, illuminated soft tones of pink, blue and lavender from within the facets of the crystal, like a galaxy trapped within glass. Erin turned the box over and the crystal toppled into his hands. The warmth it gave off sent a pleased ripple up his arm, his fear and anxiety from the night so far slowly dissipating. It was like a magic spell had been cast upon him—he felt relieved, that the end to this hellish nightmare was coming, and he just might make it out of here alive.

  He held the _Akatsuki’s_ salvation in the palm of his hand.


	36. In the Dark of the Night—She'll be Mine

 

  Morgan hesitated.

His fist slowly dissolved into an empty palm that he leant against the cool wood of the heavy oak door, eventually his other hand and even his forehead coming to rest beside it. He could _feel_ her moving on the other side of the wood, sense the moving of her every muscle, of every intake and outtake of breath, of the swish of fabric as she moved, the taste of her ancient blood on the tip of his tongue—Rafaella was an all-encompassing virus that he felt contaminating him right down to his core, even with the distance between them. It was like a supernova erupting in the next room breaking the atoms in his bones, with just this piece of wood keeping them separated. Keeping him together. Keeping him sane.

  Was it normal for someone like him—Rafealla’s ancestor—to feel this way?

 

    “You kitsune… have always interested me.”

 

  A flare of pain—it was too intense to be called pleasure—rippled hotly down Morgan’s spine at that voice. While he was still human, still _normal,_ he hadn’t heard her voice the way he was hearing it now. Mellow, husky, both cool and warm tones that mingled together in her heavily accented voice, and under that, an unexplainable predatory growl that raised the hairs on the back of Morgan’s neck. It definitely wasn’t the voice of a human, and it would take someone who was also inhuman to understand that. Someone like him.

  He was momentarily stunned, too bewildered by that voice for her actual words to register in his ears.

    _Hanami,_ he realised after a long moment.

  A pained feminine moan reached his ears to confirm his suspicions.

  There was no more time to waste—no time for any more hesitation.

 

  With a heavy breath, Morgan slammed the door open, the few _Akatsuki_ left still following him huddling in close behind.

  His breath escaped him.

  The ballroom itself was what his eyes focused on first—a once grand marble hall but now the entire south side completely gone, like a great tornado had come in and completely destroyed the back wall leaving nothing behind. In its place, growing across the entire back garden and up into the remaining marble floor, was a sea of vibrantly blooming blue flowers illuminated by the gentle light of a massive full-moon. It was such a surreal and unexpected burst of colour that temporarily managed to captivate his attention.

  It took Morgan several seconds for his eyes to travel to where was dreading to look. But there was no backing out now—he’d made a promise to the kitsune, and he wasn’t about to break it. And in any case he wasn’t going to escape Rafaella unscathed now that she knew he was here.

    _Oh god._

She worse off than he’d thought.

Hanami was trapped, her bloody clothes torn to shreds and hanging off a limp body. Her chin was resting in the palm of Rafaella’s hand, as though the only thing keeping her from falling to her knees was the vampire’s iron grip. Rafaella’s fingernails dug into Hanami’s porcelain flesh, tendrils of blood dripping between her fingers.

  But Morgan couldn’t move a muscle.

Rafaella turned to him slowly, not releasing her hold on Hanami as she did so almost like she’d forgotten the kitsune was even there. She was wearing a tank-top with one strap loosely hanging down one caramel arm and jeans so mangled and torn they were just denim fabric barely able to stay around her curvy hips—her clothes, it seemed, were a secondary concern to her. Her eyes—her ruby-red eyes with burning orange irises, practically identical to his—finally met his, and Morgan had to resist the urge to back away. She smiled just as slowly as she moved, a smile that bore her fangs and didn’t reach her eyes. Morgan felt it was a predatory signal, more like a dog baring its fangs than an actual smile; he couldn’t help himself, either—his own fangs descended on their own, his body beginning to thrum with adrenaline. It took everything he had to urge his muscles to remain still.

  Morgan flinched as Rafaella threw Hanami heavily into the garden of flowers at her feet. He was surprised, but more than anything grateful the vampire had decided to let his friend go—even if it was just for the moment.

  Rafaella caught his anxious glance at the kitsune. “You came for her?”

It took Morgan a long moment to find his voice to answer, “And my brother.”

The vampire didn’t say anything, barely registered having heard his reply. It was like trying to convey your feelings to a stone wall, or at best, an animal. A deadly, predatory animal, one who could just as easily attack you as hug you. Morgan should know—Rafaella had done both.

  Rafaella glanced back at Hanami’s silent form. “…I’ll let her go…”

  The relief was palpable—the _Akatsuki_ drew collective sighs of relief. But Morgan knew better. He couldn’t read the vampire’s thoughts—didn’t think it was possible, either, since she out-ranked him—but he could sense she wasn’t finished.

    “…But I want just _one_ thing in return,” she continued.

    “And what’s that?” Morgan asked, his voice, slightly broken and hushed, already guessing what the vampire would say.

    “I want _you.”_

  He’d guessed right. There was no way by now she didn’t realise what he was, what she’d _done_ to him. The other _Vorvintti_ might’ve been naïve enough to mistake him for a human at first, but this was a _progenitor_ here. The king of _Vorvintti._ The one _true_ ancestor.

  It was a second too late Morgan realised the very real danger he’d managed to put himself in.

    “It’s too late for you to run away,” Rafaella said, correctly guessing—no, correctly _reading_ his thoughts. It was the first time someone had used that trick on him and not the other way around—it was unnerving. Morgan made a vow then and there to never read someone else’s thoughts ever again if he could help it.

  He made up his mind.

  It wasn’t a difficult decision to make.

    “Guys,” he said, his broken voice just above a whisper. His comrades turned to him instantly at the change in his voice. “I want you all to take Hanami and get out of here.”

  They protested, of course. Just as he thought they would.

  Bronco was the first to come to the head of the pack and confront him directly. “We aren’t just going… going to _leave…!_ Just give you up to her! Are you fucking insane?! Morgan please—”

    “Bronco,” Morgan trapped Bronco in his gaze, just as Rafaella had done to him; he knew how powerful his eyes could be. “Don’t make me force you.”

  Just as he’d also expected, Bronco didn’t fall for it. “Don’t give me that shit. We’re not leaving you here with _her_. We’re taking you, Hanami, Erin… everyone trapped in this god-for-fucking-sake place,” he clapped his hand on Morgan’s shoulder, “and we’re all going home. Together.”

  It was a warm feeling, having someone with that much faith, that much _love,_ in you. As Morgan gripped Bronco’s hand in his own and took it away from his shoulder, he could slowly feel his heart breaking.

    “I’m not going back.”

  Without a second glance, Morgan went and gingerly took Hanami into his arms. Still without meeting Bronco’s eyes, he placed Hanami in his arms and backed away. “Find my brother,” he said as he stared at his boots. “Find him and get out of here. Don’t leave anyone behind.”

  He didn’t wait for Bronco’s nod, or any form of assent. He turned back to Rafaella, to the one that made him, without a second glance.

  In a way it amazed him how patient she was being. He supposed being alive for over three thousand years might’ve messed with your perception of time; she didn’t move even as the _Akatsuki_ shuffled uneasily from the room, not even as Morgan listened as the last of their boots scuffed the threshold. The room was eerily silent in their absence, the only noise the breeze whistling through the blue flowers and the steady pounding of Morgan’s heart. The _only_ heart in the room—with a start he realised Rafaella didn’t have a heartbeat.

    “Progenitors aren’t privileged to the beating hearts of the living,” she said absently, reading his mind once again.

  Morgan didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to—she’d just read his mind anyway. It was an overwhelmingly desperate feeling.

    “That was brave of you,” she continued, as though she hadn’t registered that last bit. “Or very stupid.”

    “…What was?”

    “Don’t be coy, Morgan. You tried your best to hide it, but we both know it’s on your mind. You didn’t abandon your comrades at all—you just wanted them out of the way.”

  That desperate feeling intensified. She was reading him like a book.

    “And? What if that’s true?”

    “Like I said, that was either brave or very stupid of you. Depends on _you_ which way that’ll go.”

    “What do you mean?”

    “You’re incredibly alone,” she answered. She said it matter-of-fact, no room for any doubt in her words. And she was right. “Waking up that first time must’ve been hard for you, without anyone there to help.”

  A spark of anger managed to find its way into Morgan’s stomach. “It didn’t need to be that way, you didn’t need to _turn_ me—”

    “I didn’t,” she said simply, dismissing his anger like a child’s tantrum. “I didn’t mean to turn you _at all.”_

It was one thing hearing it again and again; as a theory, as an improbable explanation as to what he had become—it was another thing to have it confirmed by the source:

  What he was, what had become of him, the whole past year… was an accident.

    “It might’ve been an accident but I don’t think it was done without purpose,” she supplied.

    “But I—”

    “Enough,” Rafaella interrupted. “It doesn’t matter, what’s done is done. There is no ‘cure’, there is no magical remedy for this. You move on, you live with it. You live with it for all eternity.”

  Her eyes swept the ground for just a split-second before they focused on Morgan, empty and cold. Morgan didn’t imagine that tiny amount of vulnerability, did he? Three thousand years… it was an exceedingly long time. A _ridiculously_ long time—he couldn’t even _begin_ to comprehend such a sheer amount of time.

    “You might. One day you just might. Does that scare you?”

  He didn’t have to say anything; he imagined his thoughts were enough answer.

  Rafaella nodded. “As it should. But that time doesn’t need to spent alone. Even if your brother, your father, that kitsune girl… even if they all eventually gave in to time, you’d still have me, still have _us.”_

  Morgan wasn’t even tempted in the slightest. He shook his head.

    “…I thought as much,” Rafaella said. “I haven’t made any progeny in over two thousand years. The last one nearly—just nearly, mind you—managed to kill me. She was… she was driven insane. Even back then my blood was too much. But here you come, perfectly healthy, perfectly _human,_ your sanity intact. I’ll be honest, I don’t really know how to behave in this situation.”

  Morgan didn’t really know either. He was pretty sure she wouldn’t just let him go, and even if she did, what then? That wouldn't mean the _Vorvintti_ would stop being the _Akatsuki’s_ enemies. In fact this whole incident would probably just perpetuate their hate towards one another.

  There was only really one solution to the problem, one he’d known from the very beginning, and one was terrified of doing.

    “You’ll have to kill me,” Rafaella surmised.

 

***

  He wanted to stare at it longer, to have its warmth soothe him for just a little bit more, but he knew he had to get moving soon. Someone could discover him and Mai at any moment, and then what?

    “We should get moving,” Erin whispered to Mai.

  The fox nodded and went to scour ahead as Erin got to his feet. He’d been sitting behind the pile of the clothes for a few minutes, hugging the chrysalis close to his chest, but still felt uncomfortably exposed and vulnerable—he just wanted out of here, to be home, to be with his family _safe._

Opting out of keeping the chrysalis in his pocket, instead he held it tightly in his hands as he gingerly made his way across the dimly lit room of treasures. The chrysalis was actually a pretty good light-source, despite its small size. He and Mai made their way to the door, Mai leaning against the wood and listening outside just as she’d done before.

  She froze.

The fur on the back of her neck bristled, her tail tensed in the air.

  Something was wrong.

Before Erin could look away, Mai shifted back into her human form, a woman with rust-red hair and bright, pumpkin-orange eyes. He yelped, and Mai quickly stifled the noise with her palm.

    “Shhh,” she whispered, her finger to her lips. “There’s… I think someone’s fighting that vampire demon down there.”

    “Vampire demon?” Erin asked, his voice shaking despite himself.

    “Yes… Their leader… Rafaella.”

  Erin’s heart leapt into his throat as he remembered the monster that had torn out his brother’s throat, the demon that had turned his brother into the—the thing he was today, the thing that was kind of his brother, but not.

    “…Who’s fighting her?” he managed to stammer.

  Mai leant her ear against the wood once again, closing her eyes as she listened for what seemed like a long time.

  Her eyes widened. “It sounds like… Morgan.

 

    “And it sounds like he’s losing.”

 

***

 

    He didn’t want to believe that was the only solution, but he was coming up short on anything else. There was no persuading her, no compulsion. There was no escape for himself, either.

  He’d either fight here and win, join her… or die.

  Morgan had no choice but to go with the least objectionable choice.

    “I’ll have to kill you,” he confirmed.

  Rafaella chuckled darkly, her voice devoid of any actual warmth. “You say that like you think you can.”

  Morgan grimaced slightly. He didn’t _think_ he could, but he didn’t have much choice in the matter.

    “Tell you what, I’ll take pity on you,” Rafaella spread her arms out, exposing her torso and neck, “I’ll give you a free shot.”

  Morgan was more than inclined to take it. It barely even pissed him off… _barely._ He didn’t take out the two pistols in the waistband of his jeans, or even the small knife in his boot—they wouldn’t even slow her down. He opted to use the next best thing: his bare hands and nails.

  He went for the heart first. Pushing himself—faster than he’d ever felt he’d needed to since he was turned—Morgan gritted his teeth as he bore down at the exposed flesh of Rafaella’s chest. Fingers like claws, he plunged his nails into her skin—

  Nothing.

  Emptiness. Air. She was gone from one second to the next, her movement so fluid, so _fast,_ it was like she had barely moved at all. Rafaella had only dodged a few inches to the side to avoid Morgan’s fingers, but he hadn’t even seen her done it. The momentum carried him forward; there was no way for him to stop her grabbing his extended wrist into her too-warm fingers. With barely a flex, she broke his wrist.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d had a bone broken by a _Vorvintti,_ nor was it the worst, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell. Morgan cried out sharply, then tried to claw at her with his free hand. It didn’t work; she grabbed that too, faster than he could move, and broke that as well. Out of ideas, and desperate to have his arms free, he did a very desperate, very unchivalrous move: he head-butted her. It wasn’t the most glamorous of counter-attacks, but it did the trick; he had the height advantage, and the surprise was just enough to slacken Rafaella’s grip for Morgan to break free. Leaping back as far as he could go, he assessed the damage to his wrists.

  They were well and truly… broken. And they were healing _agonisingly_ slow, slower than any wound he’d had since he was human.

    _Ah, shit,_ he realised. _This must’ve been what it was like for those other vampires._

    “Noticed it, have you?” Rafaella smirked. She wasn’t winded, wasn’t tired; it was like she had been standing stationary the entire time. “Pretty ridiculous, isn’t it? Our ranks decide how we heal. I’ve _never_ been mortally wounded in battle, and I’d imagine up until this point, neither have you.”

  Morgan gulped. It was exactly how she said it. Sure he’d suffered stabs and gunshot wounds here and there, but those healed ridiculously fast, like they weren’t even there to begin with. He’d noticed _his_ attacks, on the other hand, to the few _Vorvintti_ he’d fought had left them pretty badly injured, and worst-case scenario, _dead._ Now he was on the receiving end of that kind of treatment.

    “I’ll do it,” he said, stalling for time as his bones re-joined. “I’ll be the first one to hurt you. I’ll be the one that _kills_ you.”

  Rafaella smiled, fangs glistening in the moonlight. “You’re welcome to try.”

  Morgan flexed his fingers. His veins were on fire, his skin feverish hot all along his arms. He’d allowed that searing heat to take them over, make the healing process faster. It worked, that’s for sure, but the remaining feeling wasn’t exactly pleasant. Opting to ignore it rather than use it—Rafaella was probably immune to it anyway—Morgan went in for another attack.

  It was time for a strategy. Time to change up his attack. He should’ve been planning one from the very beginning, but he was so distracted by Rafaella’s presence all forethought had evaded him.

  Not now. Now he was using the heat to heal; he was trusting his instincts, the predatory ones he desperately tried to keep locked up. He leapt forward than dodged to the side as he came closer to Rafaella, taking his pistol from the back of his jeans as he did so. Rafaella turned with him, a small smile playing on her lips as she watched him like a cat amusing itself by watching a mouse squirm under its paw. He pulled the gun up against her chest and pulled the trigger—

  Rafaella grabbed the gun impossibly at the last second and turned it away from her shoulder, making the bullet go wide.

  Morgan hadn’t really thought that would work, anyway. At the same moment her hand wrapped around the gun’s muzzle, he was already reaching for the second gun hidden with the first. With her left hand wrapped around the gun, Morgan took the other gun in his right and held it against Rafaella’s forehead. It was too late for the vampire to realise her mistake; she had no hand that could reach the other gun by the time Morgan pulled the trigger.

  It wasn’t like with Megan; there was no clean hole for the bullet to go through, no instantaneous healing. This was the most extreme of point-blank—Rafaella’s head bucked from the force of the shot. She dropped the gun in her hand instantly, falling to her knees as her eyes rolled back into her head.

  Morgan wasn’t taking any chances. For good measure he shot her a few more times in the head, then in the heart, all the way until the clip was empty and all that was left was a dull click.

  He was breathing heavily as he stepped back and enjoyed his handiwork. There was a gaping hole in her forehead dripping with blood and gore. An even larger hole where her heart used to be.

  She was… dead.

  Rafaella was dead.

  He’d won. Despite all odds, despite her boasting, despite reading his mind, _he was alive and she wasn’t._ Morgan resisted the urge to do a celebratory ‘whoop’. He threw the empty pistols at his feet, wiping off the already steaming sweat from his brow.

  Then he stopped.

  No.

  No, no, no, no, _no._

That’s not possible—that’s not _fair._

The gaping wounds in Rafaella’s forehead and chest were closing, the blood steaming as it evaporated. Her veins were a fiery red as they worked to heal the damage done to her body. Within seconds, the wounds had closed, leaving _nothing_ behind but a hole in her tank-top. Not a smear of blood. Not a trace of the wounds.

  Nothing.

  She was whole.

  And she was laughing. Her reptilian eyes rolled back down slowly, this time a genuine laugh and a genuine smile lighting up her face in all the wrong ways. There was a wrongness to her laughter, an echoing horror behind her voice that Morgan couldn’t place, but filled him with pure dread.

  When she spoke it was like a snake whispering in his ears:

 

    “Did no one ever tell you? You can’t kill a progenitor without a holy weapon, little one.”


	37. Final Chapter: Evil is Always Possible. And Goodness is Eternally Difficult

 

  A flash of orange.

  That was all he saw before Rafaella was behind him. Before he felt a heavy ache blossom along his spine, into his stomach.

  Then, nothing.

Morgan looked down, horrified at the sight of Rafaella’s caramel, blood-drenched fingers poking through his shirt. With a wrench she pulled her wrist free; still Morgan felt nothing. He crumpled to the ground, all feeling in his legs completely gone like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Blood swelled in his mouth as Rafaella stepped around him and knelt beside his head. He could barely muster any energy into his fingers, let alone flee.

    “Not a nice feeling, is it?” Rafaella asked with a bemused smile.

  Morgan grunted in response, unable to form words passed the blood in his mouth.

    “Can’t feel your legs? I severed your spine; you won’t be feeling them for a while... If at all.”

  All Morgan could do was grit his teeth, blood spilling from between his gums and over his lips. Struggle as he might, he couldn’t feel a thing below the wound she’d made in his torso. He couldn’t even feel the wound itself, which was both a blessing and a curse. He’d been stabbed before, but never to the severity that he’d lost feeling in some parts of his body; he had no idea how long the wound would take to heal.

    _‘If… at all?’_ Morgan wondered. _Don’t fuck with me—this couldn’t be…_ permanent?

    “I did say ‘if at all’,” Rafaella supplied. Her empty, snake-like eyes gazed down at Morgan’s body, resting on the great wound in his gut. “I wonder,” she began slowly, tracing her finger around the wound. “If my Sleight can harm you?”

  Morgan grunted. Then, after once again failing to form words he thought, _What’s a Sleight?_

  A small smile ghosted around Rafaella’s lips. “You really are a baby. Sleights are… They’re what we call _Vorvintti_ ‘powers’. You have my Sleight, but… is it at the same level?”

  Morgan imagined himself shrugging. He couldn’t do much else.

    “We won’t know until we try will we?” she said.

  She reached for the wound in his gut. Morgan grunted, trying to squirm away from her fingers, but it was no use; moving his body was beyond him. His fingers were jelly that he could barely move, but at least feel. He couldn’t feel or move his torso and legs, and there was so much blood in his mouth he couldn’t keep it open without it pouring out. If he were still human, he would’ve been spitting it out to clear his throat, but in this case he swallowed as much of it as he could—it would’ve been a waste otherwise, and he surmised it might just help his recovery if he kept as much of his blood within himself as he could, even if it was just going to fall out through the hole in his stomach.

  Rafaella’s palm and the tips of her fingers began to glow hot-red, like super-heated metal in a forge. Her fingers were illuminated by a tracery of burning veins that reached up toward her face, where they ended in the sun-bright burning of her pupils. Morgan had never seen himself when he was in a state like that, but he felt how unnerving it was for other people watching him. He now understood that fear.

   “Stop moving. It’ll only hurt for a bit.”

  That was a lie.

  For the split second before Rafaella’s fingers met his skin, Morgan legitimately thought his body would’ve been able to handle Rafaella’s ‘Sleight’. He’d been burned alive by it before, and it had healed as instantaneously as it destroyed. Rafaella, it seemed, was on a whole other level.

  A mountain of steam billowed from beneath her fingers as she plunged her fingers into the flesh. Morgan’s grunts turned into agonized screams that splattered blood across the marble and into the bed of flowers beyond. He was trapped there, beneath her fingers, beneath her overwhelming _strength._

Looking back, it was like the entire time since he’d been turned was like playing on easy; Morgan had never felt the need to push himself to the max, to use every modicum of his _Vorvintti_ abilities. He was ‘op’ in the face of low-level grunts he could take out with barely any effort at all. Even the ‘bosses’ consisting of Benjamin and Megan were nearly too easy; he let Benjamin live after the kid got scared learning about his lineage, and Megan… well she… she wasn’t as much of a challenge either after he’d had a taste of her—

  A taste of her blood.

  After he’d tasted Benjamin’s blood, Morgan had gotten a power-boost—he could read minds. After drinking Megan’s blood, he’d gained the use of Rafaella’s Sleight, the burning blood.

  It was an extremely slim chance, and not even one that was guaranteed to work but… what if he drank Rafaella’s blood? It might _just_ provide the power he’d need to defeat her, if not at least defend himself.

  It was all Morgan had to go on at this point. But he wasn’t moving any time soon—his thoughts were a whirlwind of pain and random thoughts floating through his mind. It was one thing to have the passing thought to drink Rafaella’s blood, it was another to actually act on it. Especially without the use of his legs.

  Just as the scent of burning flesh in his nose peaked, Rafaella pulled her hand away with a satisfied smile.  “Just as I figured. I thought maybe this time round you might be able to handle it, but it looks like you’re all the same—weak.”

  Morgan didn’t have time to ponder that comment. It hurt like the seven-circles of _hell_ but Rafaella had cauterised the wound. Whether she had done that intentionally or not, he had no idea. He just took it as a blessing. And a curse, once again—his organs and spine now had the chance to heal themselves without having to heal the gaping hole as well, and the feeling of having his bones knit back together and his organs regenerate were one of the most uncomfortable things he’d ever had to deal with. While it felt like knives were tearing his stomach apart from the inside, it felt like firecrackers were bursting across his spine as the bones and cords repaired themselves.

  But it was something he could _feel;_ sensations in places where moments ago he could feel nothing at all.

    “If you won’t join me, Morgan, I wonder if I should try again?”

    “T-try what again?” Morgan asked past the blood in his mouth. There wasn’t nearly as much blood as before; he wasn’t bleeding internally anymore, thank god. But now there was a new problem he had to deal with, one that thankfully coincided with his goal: he needed blood. Rafaella’s blood.

  Rafaella gazed out beyond the field of blue flowers, pensive before she replied: “Try making another one.”

 

***

    “He’s… losing?”

  Erin’s grip tightened on the chrysalis, the jagged edges of the crystal digging into his soft palm.

  Mai pushed her ear further against the door. “Let me—let me listen longer.” She closed her eyes and grew completely still, the only indicator she wasn’t a statue the steady rise and fall of her chest—a sight Erin desperately tried looking away from.

  After a few silent minutes with nothing but distant grunts and the sounds of a scuffle reaching Erin’s ears, Mai abruptly pulled away from the wood of the door, her mouth a perfect ‘o’.

  Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I think she’s… killing him.”

  He was moving before he’d even registered it, like his legs had grown a mind of their own. He pushed past Mai and slammed the door open, Mai following close behind in a panic.

    “You can’t—” she reached to grab Erin’s arm, but he lifted the chrysalis between them. Mai flinched back, her skin barely missing the holy light of the crystal. Erin didn’t notice her fear as she lagged behind, too focused on his goal.

  Only _he_ held the _Akatsuki’s_ salvation in the palm of his hand… that’s what he’d been told. Now that his brother was in trouble—more than that, he was at death’s _door—_ the chrysalis was needed more than ever.

  Erin wouldn’t let his brother die. Won’t let the vampire kill him.

  He only hesitated for a couple of seconds before he slammed the door to the ballroom open.

 

***

    “You… said the last one went insane,” Morgan said, stalling for time once again while his insides healed. It was funny, he knew Rafaella was only _humouring_ him—she must’ve known how desperate he was to stall her for time.

    “I did. But with how well you turned out, I like my chances—”

  The door to the opposite side of the ballroom slowly opened, as though the force on the other side was too weak to open it all at once. After a moment, he realised why. Morgan’s breath caught in his throat.

  It was Erin.

  His tiny, very _human_ younger brother.

Erin’s jade eyes met his across the hall then widened. Morgan could imagine how it must’ve looked, lying on his back at Rafaella’s feet. But Erin’s feelings were the last thing on his mind.

  Rafaella slowly got to her feet, dusting off her jeans as she did so. A feeling of pure dread found its way across Morgan’s newly repaired spine—she was smiling.

    “What a great opportunity,” she said as she began walking toward Erin.

Morgan groaned as he lifted himself to his knees on shaky hands. “Don’t—”

    “I didn’t think a chance to test it out would come so soon, but when life gives you lemons...”

    “No…!” Morgan screamed as Rafaella became a blur, moving so fast she was standing in front of Erin from one step to the next.

  She’d kill him.

  No, even worse, she’d _turn_ him.

  The thought turned Morgan’s veins to burning ice. He was on his feet without having remembered how he got there, all pain in his abdomen and spine forgotten. This time he poured all his desperation into his legs, into his muscles. Morgan was moving faster than he’d ever had…but at a cost. His muscles were straining against the pressure, ligaments tearing themselves apart and healing, only to tear themselves apart all over again with each extreme step he took. Even the burning blood within his veins couldn’t keep up with the speed his muscles deteriorated.

  But it was enough. It _had_ to be enough.

With a yell that scoured his voice he grabbed Rafaella by the shoulders and threw her across the marble. She slammed into the stone once, leaving a massive hole in the rock, then kept going, gauging a great big line into the soil beyond the ballroom all the way to the boundary of the mansion.

    “Get out of here!” Morgan shouted behind him as he followed the crater left in the progenitor’s wake. His muscles were taking longer and longer between each step to repair the damage being done to them, but Morgan didn’t care. He couldn’t afford to care; this was the best chance he’d had against Rafaella since shooting out her heart. He couldn’t let her incapacitate him again—she might not be as forgiving as to let him live the next time.

  As the vampire came to a rest on the opposite side of the yard, a shower of petals raining around her still form, Morgan remembered his idea. Now was as good as time as any to go for it—that and his entire body was _screaming_ with hunger and thirst. Locking her hips tightly between his thighs so she couldn’t wriggle away, he grabbed her wrists and held them above her head. She was thankfully a little winded, and couldn’t immediately fight back as he roughly borrowed into her neck.

  It was without a doubt the most delicious thing he’d ever had on his tongue. He gulped down mouthfuls of the savoury, syrup-thick ancient blood, each sip so scalding it was like drinking boiling water. But all thoughts about the heat were out the window as Morgan felt the blood hit his stomach and flow through his veins—the wound in his stomach, the hole in his back? A distant memory. As it burned his throat, it healed it. All the aches and pains Rafaella had inflicted were slowly fading, ironically thanks to _her own_ blood.

  Rafaella bucked beneath him once—a flare of anticipation fluttered across Morgan’s stomach. Morgan leapt away just in time as Rafaella kicked out against where his stomach would’ve been; no doubt if _she_ sent him flying he wouldn’t be landing for a while. Wiping his mouth, he glanced back at where Erin was still standing at the door.

    _“What are you still doing here?”,_ he screamed desperately, voice echoing with panic.

  Erin stammered, clutching something glowing tightly to his chest. “I—I just—”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Morgan spied a red shadow streak ahead of him. No, that wasn’t quite accurate—he could _make out_ the blur this time, the fiery veins Rafaella had across her body allowing her to move at such extreme speed.

  He could _see_ them all.

  Make her out where he couldn’t before. It was too much of a risk to think his _body_ could possibly move like that with the help of Rafaella’s blood but… it was something Morgan felt the need to try. He only had a split second to decide before Rafaella reached Erin; he took off, reaching his hand out—

  And caught her, just barely.

He tried to fling her back just like before, but the progenitor wasn’t so stupid to be thrown a second time. The moment his hand touched her, she came to a complete stand-still and turned back. Once again Morgan’s momentum was the death of him; she took the opportunity to slam him with her elbow in his newly-healed gut, kicking him across the face and slamming him to the ground, landing on top of him. She had his shoulders efficiently pinned beneath her stone-hard palms.

    “I’ll give you one last chance,” she said, her voice deadly cold. “Join me, and I’ll let your brother go.”

  Morgan’s eyes flickered to his brother, then to back to Rafaella. “…But you won’t.”

    “Is that a chance you’re willing to ignore? Once I kill you here, what do you think I’ll do to your little brother?”

     _You’ll turn him,_ Morgan answered silently. Rafaella nodded slowly, imperceptibly.

  Morgan sighed, his heart breaking as he realised he had only one option left to him. “I’ll join—”

    _“Don’t!”_  Erin’s voice echoed across the hall and into the night, surprising both vampires at its tenacity. “Don’t…” he said more slowly, opening his palm out to the two of them. Nestled in between his fingers was the one thing Morgan definitely didn’t expect to see: the chrysalis.

  Then Erin did something equally unexpected: he threw the crystal. A small underhand throw, careful to not shatter the precious stone, Erin threw it so it landed right beside Morgan’s head. Rafaella flinched away from it, the light blinding her eyes. Morgan, despite his own high body temperature, felt the crystal’s warmth by his head. He turned toward the light, a dazzling array of soft colours pulsing within the gem.

    “If you touch it, you die too,” Rafaella spat as she followed his line of sight.

  It wasn’t something he needed to think over. The thought didn’t even cross his mind.

 

  Morgan grabbed the chrysalis with his right hand and shoved it into Rafaella’s chest, where her non-beating heart would be.

  He held it there tightly with both hands, shoving the crystal in as far as it would go. Rafaella was shocked into silence at first, but then she _screamed._ It was a scream built up not only from pain, but disbelief, desperation and absolute despair.

  The vampire’s skin became butter beneath the chrysalis, allowing Morgan to force the gem further into her body. From being trapped beneath her, Morgan was on his knees pushing her back, then he had _her_ on the ground, still holding the crystal tightly against her skin.

  Then, she stopped struggling.

  Rafaella simply stopped screaming all together, her body becoming rigid. The warm edge of the crystal beneath his palm gave way to super-hot flesh; the crystal was completely inside her. Morgan leant back, bewildered and exhausted.

  The chrysalis hadn’t hurt him.

  More than that, it felt almost like the crystal’s light had _healed_ him as it touched his skin. There was no doubt of the danger it posed—Rafaella’s pained screams were answer to that—but Morgan had felt…nothing at all.

  Rafaella gasped beneath him, and he turned his attention back to her. From the point the crystal entered her on the left side of her chest, the skin was beginning to harden. It took several more seconds of the strange petrification for Morgan to realise that Rafaella’s flesh was turning into the same gem of the chrysalis itself. The progenitor’s face slackened, all semblance of pain gone. But she wasn’t dead, Morgan realised, as her eyes flickered toward him, the fire within her pupils for once subdued. After a moment, she spoke.

 

    “It’s funny—the chrysalis is alive. This is the first time I’ve ever felt a heartbeat. It’s too heavy.”

   A strange kind of dull ache began to blossom in Morgan’s chest, his own heart feeling heavy at her words.     _‘A heart is a heavy burden to bare’,_ he found himself thinking. In the corner of his eye he noted how quickly the petrification was encroaching the edges of Rafaella’s body; from beginning in her chest, it had already started working the tips of her fingers and feet, hardening the skin beyond as it moved.

    “I don’t know how you humans do it,” she continued. Her fingers and hands, her feet and calves, had all been crystallised, the process slowing as it reached her chest and face. “It chose you,” she said after a moment, her voice growing faint.

    “What?” Morgan asked, voice hoarse.

    “I had no intent of turning you, I meant that. It was likely the chrysalis that changed the intent of my blood inside you. It was probably this damn crystal that led us all here to this moment, to _this_ outcome…like dolls.” She winced as her torso became trapped in the petrification, only her shoulders and head the last free parts of her body remaining. The dull ache in Morgan’s chest grew into a constant pain, reminding him of a stab wound.

    “I can’t take away what I did. I’m _Vorvintti,_ and a progenitor at that; I won’t apologise for what happened. But eternity is a long time. And I…

   “I grieve for the life you’re expected to lead. For the eternity… you’ll have to face alone.”

 

  And with that last breath, words she could barely whisper past her crystalline lips, her body grew silent. Morgan’s breath caught. The pain in his chest was so intense it brought tears to his eyes—his whole body felt dull and lifeless, his muscles aching, the fire in his veins completely gone leaving him shivering from cold. With shaking fingers he gingerly placed a hand on the crystal form of Rafaella.

  It shattered beneath his fingertips.

  Shattered wasn’t the right word; Rafaella turned to dust beneath his fingers, like a vampire under the sun. His hand hovered in the air for a moment, too surprised to do anything else.

  The pain intensified.

A hot-poker of suffering spreading out from his heart; Morgan grabbed desperately at his chest, gasping like he was being starved for air. In a way that was what it felt like—like there was no air in his lungs, no gravity beneath his feet, no light shining from the moon, no heat coming from his body. Everything was nothingness, pain the only sensation he could feel.

  It wasn’t just physically—it was an emotional pain as well. Morgan hadn’t felt this amount of anguish since his mother had passed away. It was uncontrollable, it was irrational… and it was all-encompassing. He cried like he hadn’t cried in ten years; full, unabashed, bloody tears that fell from his cheeks like rain, great guffaws of breath that filled the empty ballroom with his pained voice. It was… heartache like no other, and one he couldn’t explain. And man, did it hurt like hell.

 

  Eventually, Morgan couldn’t tell how long, Erin came to sit beside him. He didn’t bother him, he only sat there patiently and waited for Morgan to calm down. When had that kid gotten so mature?

  After a long, long while, the pain began to die down. It took a lot for Morgan to get in control of his emotions, but eventually even they too went back to some semblance of normal.

  But as Morgan clutched his chest, he realised that even though the pain had gone, it had left a gaping hole behind, one he didn’t know quite how to fill.

 

  Because even if it was Rafaella who died, Morgan felt more like it wasn’t just her that was killed—he was undeniably a different person completely from his past self.

  It wasn’t just the death of his progenitor that he suffered…

  It was the death of his humanity that hurt the most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've stuck through this novel so far, thanks so much!
> 
> There are more to come in the series (hopefully), and any and all comments/criticism are welcome and considered!
> 
> Thanks again,
> 
> kel


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